Petra urged her horse forward, enjoying the feel of the wind blowing through her hair. Several pins holding together the carefully constructed bun at the back of her neck loosened and bounced off her shoulder. A tendril of hair, now free, bounced jauntily against her upper back. Air rushed past her ears, muffling the sound of the horse behind her. The smart little hat decorated with a spray of violets flew off the top of her head and went sailing out over the moors.
Mother would be quite upset. Hysterical, maybe. The hat had been designed to accompany the deeper lavender riding habit, and the ensemble had cost a small fortune. While Petra wasn’t overly fond of the color, as anything with a hint of purple was usually reserved for Lady Marsh, the riding habit did set off Petra’s slender form to perfection and managed to make her bosom appear more generous, an amazing feat.
Would Simon notice?
Morwick would.
Petra hastily pushed all thoughts of the dark and alluring Morwick out of her mind. She was not at Brushbriar to dwell on him but to decide if Simon would make her a good husband. At the moment, things didn’t look too promising.
The sour look on Simon’s face as she galloped past him should have made her pause in her mad gallop through the heather. In London, Petra had appreciated Simon’s manner toward her, thinking his treatment meant he held her in high esteem. Respected her. Now Petra suspected his aloof manner was more dismissive than respectful. He still laughed easily enough at her observations, when he deigned to have an actual conversation with her. But his amusement was more indulgent, like that of a parent’s toward a child. A mere six weeks had passed since Simon had left London to return to Brushbriar, but his earlier courtship felt like a lifetime ago. The Petra he’d said goodbye to was not the woman who now rode crazily across the moors.
Outside of dinner every evening, and one brief turn around the gardens where they spoke of nothing but the types of flowers blooming, Simon avoided her. He cited a variety of reasons for not being available—business at the mines, an errand in Castleton, the very important bill he was drafting. But this morning, he’d finally sought her out. Petra had been seated in the drawing room with a book on her lap when Simon had suggested a ride, explaining he’d been remiss in his attentions. Petra had been more than happy to comply and escape the company of the rest of Brushbriar’s occupants. She had left the drawing room before Mother could pepper her with questions or admonishments.
“Petra! Slowdown!” Simon yelled as his horse, a gelding with a coat like mahogany, came up alongside her mount. Deep grooves of disapproval bracketed his mouth. “A more sedate pace would be preferable.”
Joy at riding with the wind in her hair quickly faded at his tone. Simon was spoiling her first bit of freedom in days. Dutifully, she slowed, pulling back gently on the reins. She sensed again his unyielding nature, though she’d not been so averse to his manner in London.
Of course not. I was too busy enjoying the thrill of being courted by the brilliant Lord Simon Pendleton and congratulating myself I’d gotten rid of Dunning.
“Preferable to whom?” Petra snapped a bit more sharply than intended as she walked her horse back toward him. “Certainly not myself, my lord.”
Only the slight flare of the nostrils of Simon’s perfect patrician nose warned Petra he hadn’t cared for her retort. “I specifically instructed the groom to saddle agentlehorse for your use.”
“The horse you chose for me was better suited to someone like my mother, should she care to ride, and not myself. I prefer a bit more spirit. I overruled you.” She fluttered her lashes in a fetching manner, professing a contriteness she didn’t feel in the least.
Pretending. I’m always pretending.
“You shall not do so again,” he uttered, lips tight and hard. “I have a duty to ensure your safety. Decisions I make for you have your best interests at heart.”
Petra lowered her eyes and looked out at the vastness of the moors. Simon had a very clearly defined set of rules for every aspect of his life. Breakfast at exactly the same time every day. Always bacon, tea and one piece of toast with fresh butter. The meal was followed by a walk with his two spaniels for approximately thirty minutes, after which Simon then went to his study to work.
When Petra had first visited the Brushbriar library, she had found that Simon had kindly selected several tomes for her, none of which she cared to read for they were all poetry. Certainly no lurid gothic novels, like the Lord Thurston book tucked safely away upstairs. She dared not read Lord Thurston outside the safety of her room, for her mother would confiscate the book in an instant.
When Petra had returned to the library the following day, she had ignored Simon’s selected reading pile and snuck out with a tome on the study of fossils tucked discreetly under her arm. It was a mild act of defiance.
“You could have injured yourself.” Simon was glaring at her.
Petra looked up, ready to refute him, but saw he was truly concerned. Instantly contrite, she took a deep conflicted breath. “Simon,” she began gently, “I have ridden almost from the moment I could walk. While we’ve never gone riding together in London, I did so often before I met you. I’m an excellent rider. You have nothing to fear.”
“What would I tell your mother if you fell from your horse? You can be terribly headstrong sometimes. From now on, we ride at the pace I set.”
Irritation flashed. “I’m perfectly capable of—”
“You don’t know the terrain.” His lips grew tighter. “And I expect a bit more decorum from my wife. Racing about in such a way will be frowned upon. Your behavior is a reflection on me. Pray remember such.”
The comment stung though she wasn’t sure how galloping across the moors could possibly injure Simon’s political aspirations in any way. She wished to tell him she’d not officially accepted his offer but decided this was not the time. Petra was on a mission to ensure their suitability, not argue.
Simon took off his hat, slapping the felt against his thigh. The tense set of his shoulders relaxed. “I don’t wish any harm to befall you, Petra. I don’t wish to appear so —”
Obstinate? Controlling?
“—insistent on such things,” he finished.
“Of course, my lord.” Petra acquiesced. “I apologize if I caused you any undue worry.” God, she sounded so…simpering.The tree-climbing portion of her personality rebelled instantly.
“Shall we walk for a bit?” An assured smile crossed his lips.
“I would like that.”
