Scandal's Reward Read Free Page A

disadvantage.
    “You’re a stranger here, sir. This track is dangerous and I thought to warn you.”
    “The only danger is caused by your impetuous and unnecessary interference. You could have been killed.”
    The tanned face that looked down at her seemed carved from stone. Brilliant green eyes under straight black brows gazed directly into her face, but he made no move to help her.
    She stared back up at him. Really, he had the longest black eyelashes she had ever seen on a man!
    “I think you might dismount and offer me some assistance.”
    His face was instantly transformed by a charming smile. “You seem to be unhurt and able to regain your feet by yourself,” he said lightly. “My close proximity is usually considered perilous to unchaperoned young ladies.”
    “What?” she shot back without thinking. “Do you make a habit of ravishing any female that crosses your path?” She struggled to her feet. She had entirely smashed her straw bonnet when she fell, so she was unable to put it back on. Instead, she thrust it behind her. There was a smear of green right down the side of her muslin skirt, and one of the flounces was torn.
    He raised an eyebrow and the emerald gaze swept over her in the most insolent manner. “Only those who are capable of displaying some feminine charm, alas, not a hoyden who flings herself at my feet like some screaming dervish.”
    “I am not a dervish.” Catherine became uncomfortably aware that this was not at all a proper conversation for her to be having with a stranger. She attempted to return to safer ground. “The moor is full of hidden traps for a horseman. The bogs cannot be seen until you are in them. You might thank me for my efforts.”
    “Cassandra also received no thanks for her warnings of doom.”
    “Like Cassandra, I am only trying to save you from disaster.”
    With a grim laugh he turned his mount away from her. “I may need saving, young lady, but not from the hazards of riding a horse. Good day!”
    With that, he touched his horse with his leg and the gray bounded away, leaving Catherine standing speechless with anger on the path. What an insufferably rude and arrogant man! Well, he was probably no more than some officer passing through on his return from France. England was full of retired soldiers now that Napoleon was safely imprisoned on Elba. Nevertheless, he should not get away with the parting shot.
    “I hope you drown in Rye Combe Bog!” she shouted at the retreating back.
     

Chapter 2
     
    Lion Court was a pleasant, ivy-covered edifice that had been, at the time of Good Queen Bess, the home of a wealthy wool merchant. The house, solidly built of the local stone, enclosed three sides of a courtyard and presided over several topiary box bushes like a hen with her chicks. The stone lions which had given the house its name had weathered and crumbled until they had the rounded, toothless look of pug dog puppies, begging.
    Catherine loved the place. To the north she could just catch a glimpse of the sea in the Bristol Channel, with the hills of Wales faintly shadowing the horizon. To the south rose the purple tops of Exmoor, home to wild ponies and red deer. Out of sight to the west lay the whitewashed village and church of Fernbridge by its pebbled beach, where her father had his living. And, a little farther along the coast, stood small, elegant Stagshead, set back from the road in its ancient grounds: the home of Captain David Morris who, returning from the Peninsular Campaign when Napoleon was defeated, had come into his inheritance and won her sister’s heart.
    Up behind Lion Court marched woods of beech and oak, ash and birch, and below and through them, like a slash in a bread loaf, tumbled Rye Water, carrying the rain from the moor to the sea. The stretch of Rye Water which ran past the house had been tamed with plantings and little iron railings. There was an artificial grotto with a marble nymph forever pouring water from an urn, where she and