Stephanie James Read online

  Detested.

  Detest.

  I detest your kind.

  The words had rolled over his mind again and again since that night. What had she meant by “your kind”? Had she been speaking of men in general? Aspiring businessmen? Whatever her meaning had been, it mattered little in comparison to his failure to apologize. Philip had behaved disgracefully. He had offended Miss Olivia and made gross assumptions about her character. As a proper gentleman, he should have issued his apologies as quickly as possible. But he had been putting it off.

  Philip was ashamed to admit it, but his pride couldn’t stand the thought of confronting her just yet. He had admittedly welcomed all the little distractions that kept him away from her, and had even put in a little extra effort to avoid her. He had insulted her so thoroughly he cringed at the memory of what he had said. How could he have been so stupid, so conceited, and so … wrong?

  Well, none of that mattered now, he supposed. He could put it off no longer. As much as he hated to put himself in such an awkward situation, he had to face her. And however improper Philip thought she was, Miss Winter was still owed an apology. He was simply going to have to toe-the-line and atone for his behavior, get it over with as quickly as possible so he could go back to attending to his own affairs. As soon as he was dressed for the day, he would ride over to Whistler Manor and swallow his pride.

  • • •

  “I’m so sorry, Lord Philip,” said Mr. Winter’s butler, Johnson. “Mr. Winter has gone to the village.”

  “Is Miss Winter in residence?”

  “No, my lord, she is not. She’s gone out for her daily ride.”

  Philip’s shoulders sagged.

  “But I imagine she will be back soon,” said Johnson. “She usually comes back about this time.”

  “Mmm,” Philip mumbled. He didn’t particularly want to see the woman to begin with, but he had geared himself up and dragged himself over to face her and get it all over and done with. To be denied the opportunity to rid himself of his shame and guilt was most irritating. “Thank you, Johnson. I shall try again later, I suppose.”

  The butler bowed. “Very good, my lord. I shall tell Mr. Winter you called.”

  Damn little chit. Why could she not be at home? Why could she not be in the drawing room, painting or sewing, or doing something else feminine? Why did she have to be out riding? It was unacceptable, damn unacceptable. It was nearly time for tea. A proper lady would be in residence preparing for such a daily ritual, but not Olivia. No; not Miss Olivia Winter. She had to be out riding. Well, if she was out and unavailable to receive his apology then it was not his fault. He was not going to wait around for her like a fool. He was going back to Tyndall Hall. He was going to take the day to himself. He was going to —

  Hoof beats.

  Well, well, so she returned. No doubt her riding habit would be covered in mud and her hair would be loose again.

  Philip turned to the source of the rhythmic sound and spotted a large grey horse canting through an open field. The rider was too far away to see clearly, but Philip knew instantly it was Olivia. He could see her long red-golden hair whipping around behind her.

  “I knew it,” he said to himself.

  He did his best to rid his mind of agitation. If he was to apologize, then he would need to behave pleasantly.

  She appeared to be a natural rider, he noticed with surprise. Perhaps he should compliment her on her form as a lead-in to his apology. Women liked compliments. That should soften her up a bit.

  Maybe he should also — hang on. Why was she riding alone? And what in the name of God was she wearing?

  • • •

  Olivia knew instantly the man standing near the stables was Lord Philip. She could not yet see his face, but the figure could be no one else. She knew of not a single man in the county who would have the gumption or fortitude to wear such a hideously bright, peacock blue coat.

  “Ah, Lord Philip,” she said with false delight as she dismounted and relinquished her horse to a stable boy. “To what do I owe this dishonor?”

  “You rode alone?” asked Philip indignantly.

  “I always ride alone,” she said.

  Philip made no response. He only stared at her in disbelief. “What the devil are you wearing?”

  Olivia scanned his apparel. “I might ask you the same question.”

  Philip looked down as his clothes. “What do you mean?”

  “That coat,” she said, waving her hand in his direction to indicate the garment. “It is atrocious.”

  He looked back up at her and blinked. “It’s the latest in men’s fashion in London.”

  “Ah, yes, but this is Dorset,” Olivia stated. “And I’m afraid we simple country dwellers are not quite refined enough to accept something so … bright as peacock blue,” she finished with a smile.

  Philip smoothed his hands down the front of his coat. “But everyone wears these kinds of colo — my clothes are of no consequence!”

  Olivia took a reflexive step back, but was no less amused.

  “You should not be dressed in those!” he bellowed and pointed to Olivia’s lower half.

  She looked down at her brother’s old breeches briefly before looking up again and shrugging her shoulders. “So,” she said dismissively.

  “So?” Philip repeated, wide-eyed. “So there are men working on this estate, that’s what’s so problematic about your attire. Good God, woman, those … things cling to every part of your legs.”

  “Why, Lord Philip,” she chimed. “How horribly improper of you to notice.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t notice something so alluring.”

  Olivia gasped.

  Philip moved closer to her and spoke in a low, whispering tone. “Whistler Manor is crawling with gardeners, footmen, and stable boys,” he said. “Rest assured all of them have noticed your shapely backside, Miss Winter. In fact, that young lad who took your horse gave you a good look-over.”

  “How dare you!” she hissed.

  “No, madam, how dare you. It’s bad enough you insist upon running about with your hair unbound, but you are playing with fire indeed by flaunting yourself so. And to ride without an escort,” he continued. “My God, how can you be so reckless?”

  Olivia lifted her chin proudly. “The grounds of Whistler Manor are perfectly safe. And as for my attire, well … I have been wearing breeches around this house since I was a child. No one thinks it improper. They all know it is simply something I do.”

  “Well, you are not a child any longer,” said Philip. “And I would gladly wager every last man you pass in those breeches thinks lustful thoughts of you. It is ‘simply something’ they do.” He jutted his index finger at her. “You can be sure of that.”

  Olivia gasped. “That is not true,” she said. “Even if it were, no one would dare touch or harm me.”

  Philip rolled his eyes. “I sincerely doubt you know all the servants here, Miss Winter, especially the men. You cannot know what any of them will do if they have been thoroughly teased by the sight of you in those things.”

  “You are disgusting,” said Olivia.

  “I am honest,” Philip retorted. “And you need to behave more like a lady.”

  She huffed out a dismissive breath and tilted her head to the side. She didn’t need lessons on being a lady from this stuffy lord from London. “Why are you here?”

  Philip recoiled slightly. “I, uh … ,” he mumbled. He straightened his back, cleared his throat and smoothed out the front of his coat as though he were about to deliver a speech Lord Philip seemed to enjoy preaching and telling others what to do and how to think, Olivia noted. It seemed rather natural for him to be so imperious. She rolled her eyes and waited for yet another loquacious diatribe. What would he say to her now, she wondered.

  “I came to apologize.”

  Olivia blinked in surprise. After his stern lecture on her apparel, an apology was the last thing she would hav
e expected from him. Still, he had a funny way of apologizing. “Insinuating the men around the Manor stare at me is hardly the way to accomplish that goal.”

  “That was not my apology,” said Philip.

  “Oh, of course not,” she agreed. “Well, then do please apologize after such a speech. I’d rather like to see you try.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Philip, without any sort of conviction and on a rather rushed breath.

  Olivia did not need to ask for which transgression Lord Philip was apologizing. With the exception of this moment, they had spent time together on only one occasion and it had been a very memorable meeting indeed. She especially liked the part where she had torn him to pieces and left him wordless.

  She looked him over, evaluating the expression on his face. Could he be sincere? He had said the words rather quickly. And he had postponed his apology for nearly two months. Nevertheless, he had still made the attempt to make amends. She could forgive him, she supposed. She could, but that wouldn’t be very much fun.

  “I do not accept,” she said finally and turned toward the house.

  “You what?” said Philip to her back.

  Olivia turned around and walked backwards a few steps as she answered him. “I believe I spoke quite clearly, my lord.”

  She turned back around and continued to the door, savoring the look of confused shock on Lord Philip’s face.

  • • •

  Philip watched as she turned away from him again and continued her journey back to the house. How could someone not accept an apology? Certainly, when one issued an apology, the offended had the option of refusing, but no one ever did that.

  He set off at a run after her. He had swallowed too much of his pride to have his words cast aside as nothing.

  “Stop,” he ordered when he caught up, stepping in front of her to halt her steps. “What gives you the right to refuse my apology?”

  A peaceful smile decorated her face as she casually laced her fingers behind her back. “Because I can,” she said simply.

  “You most certainly cannot. I apologized,” he argued, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Now you must accept. That is the way apologies should unfold.”

  “Perhaps, but not in this case.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because I don’t like you, Lord Philip. You are rude, cruel, and the most disgracefully arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Why should I accept the apology of someone so unpleasant?”

  “Because I meant it!” He jumped slightly as he yelled the words. By God, she was driving him mad.

  “Well, that’s very refreshing,” said Olivia, “but nothing you do, short of parting the waters of the Atlantic, will make me accept.”

  “Good God, woman,” he bit off as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  Olivia was still smiling. She was obviously enjoying the fact that she could irritate him so profoundly…which only irritated him more.

  “What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

  “What is wrong with you, Lord Philip, to have assumed I would ever want you for my husband?”

  Philip exhaled deeply. “Now, see here,” he began, doing his level best to speak calmly, even though he would have loved to dole out a few more insults to her “I’m sure you are familiar with the fact that for most women in London, the art of finding a husband is a highly competitive sport.”

  “I am aware of the fact, yes,” said Olivia, and nodded her head once.

  “Then surely you can understand why I was so suspicious of you … a woman.”

  She nodded her head again. “I suppose I could, yes. But that still does not pardon your cruel words. You could have simply ignored me.”

  “I had a bad experience,” said Philip reluctantly. “Two bad experiences, in fact, and that is all I will say on the matter. I regret that those experiences have left me a bit unable to readily trust others, and I equally regret that you were forced to bear the brunt of my acquired prejudice. I realize now I should not have rushed to form such an evil assumption about your character or your motives.” Philip cleared his throat and straightened his posture once more. “I am … sorry, Miss Winter.”

  He even bowed after saying the words in an attempt to show he truly meant them. He watched her face for any sign of a reaction. She simply stared at him with a stoic expression before finally saying, “Congratulations, Lord Philip, you have parted the waters. I accept your apology.”

  She turned away quickly and walked up the steps of her home. When her hand was on the door, she turned to face him one last time. “But I still do not like you.”

  • • •

  Dear Richard,

  Father’s business is going well. He has purchased three new studs, and I believe he is also expecting the delivery of another stud from abroad. He and Lord Philip get on very well. Lord Philip is not old, as I had assumed, but rather very young. Younger than you, I believe older brother. I admit he is somewhat attractive, but only in certain lighting and from very odd angles.

  It also pains me to admit that Lord Philip seems to be an honorable man. At first I was not sure of this, but now I am. He has invested quite a bit into father’s project, and does not seem to mind hard work. He is at Whistler Manor constantly. However, rest assured he is still despicable. I had the great misfortune of dining with him, and it seems father is the only one to whom The Honorable Lord Philip shows respect. He ignored me and treated me like an annoying child all through the meal. I shall not even mention what he said to me later on in the drawing room, but be certain it was horribly degrading.

  I make an effort to avoid him whenever he is here. Honorable he may be, but I do not like him. He is too arrogant, too unpleasant, and too stuffy. He’s too everything and I do not like him …

  Olivia’s letter to her brother, penned one hour after accepting Lord Philip’s apology

  Spring 1808

  Chapter Five

  Olivia awoke the next morning from a dreamless sleep. The light peeking through her heavy drapes was golden. She could hear birds chirping and flittering around in the tree outside her window, and her chamber was chilled with the crisp air of the new day. She rose from her bed, donning her robe and slippers before treading across her room to the window. She loved that her room faced east and that the lake was there. She liked the way the sunlight reflected off the water in a million little sparkles. The day’s form of stars, she liked to think.

  This was her favorite time of day. Everything seemed new and fresh and beautiful. Things were just waking up — the sun, the birds, people in the house, neighbors. But for a time, while things were still quiet, Olivia liked to pretend that she was the only one awake for miles. The morning seemed more personal that way, as though it belonged to her alone. And when the morning was sunny and cheerful like this, her spirits were always joyful. Anything was possible on a day like today.

  She would go for a ride after breakfast, to start. She loved to ride. She was free whenever she rode. She could go anywhere she pleased, ride at any speed. There was never anyone around to tell her to slow down or behave more like a lady. Her father had yet to insist she ride with an escort, and she was very glad of that. His mind was often times so preoccupied with other matters that he very rarely remembered to see to his daughter’s propriety. Not that Olivia mattered little to him. On the contrary, she mattered a great deal and she knew it. But where her personal freedoms were concerned, Olivia was content to have her father forget her forever.

  She turned away from the window and spotted a pair of her brother’s old breeches laid out on the chaise near the door of her chamber. Olivia’s maid, Betsy, had set them out for her. One corner of her mouth tilted upwards as she remembered her little tiff with Lord Philip over her choice of riding attire the previous day.

  She remembered how fiercely he had lectured her on the dangers and disgracefulness of wearing such clothing about the house and its grounds. As the memory of his words floated through her head, she made a q
uick decision. She would wear the breeches.

  She would wear them not only because they were comfortable and provided her ample motility while on the back of a horse, but also because they would bother him if he happened to see her. And Olivia hoped he would see her. She fervently hoped he would see her riding tall and proud in the very garment he had deemed indecent.

  She was not his wife. She was not his sister, his ward, or anything else to him. He had not the right to criticize her behavior or to issue orders. And Olivia would see to it that Lord Philip understood his limitations completely.

  • • •

  “Now, I’ve been breeding Connemara horses for some time,” Mr. Winter was saying to Philip, “but I’ve recently had the good fortune to run across a Friesian horse breeder on a recent trip to Holland.”

  They were standing outside of an enclosure near the stables, viewing Mr. Winter’s latest addition to his collection of horses. A few stable hands were running the horse so Philip and Mr. Winter could see the horse’s form. Though Philip was not familiar with the Friesian breed, the animal was simply beautiful — solid muscle and black as night with a long, wavy mane and tail.

  “He’s magnificent,” said Philip.

  “Yes, he is,” Mr. Winter agreed, his face beaming proudly. “He’s why I was in the village yesterday. He’s only just arrived from Holland. I have a mare on order as well, and she is just as black. And before you mention it,” Mr. Winter continued, “I realize I could have found a breeder in England for these Belgian Blacks, but lately the breed has become so diluted. So many want to make them better suited for trotting, you see. Getting this one straight from the breed’s region of origin gives us a clean slate.”

  Philip’s brows rose excitedly. “That’s brilliant,” he said.

  Mr. Winter nodded. “I thought so as well. I bought the mare to breed a good baseline, but I was thinking of cross breeding this beauty with one of my Connemaras. Their stamina and quickness should add something special to the Friesian that would hopefully make them appealing to the military. And the military will need all the strength they can muster. Napoleon will only continue to cause problems, you mark my words.”