Never Fall for Your Fiancee

Therefore, he decided to tactically avoid the questions. However, avoiding them was easier said than done when the group was ensconced in the inn’s private dining room, where there were no other distractions to explain his uncharacteristic lack of conversation.

But there was no getting away from the fact her unexpected appearance had caught him completely off guard and had destroyed his good mood—a mood that had begun to deteriorate when Minerva started comparing him to his father, sending his thoughts scattering to all the dark places he avoided like the plague. That had been before she’d thrown herself in his arms, smoothed her palms over his chest, and sent his body hurtling into a different and entirely unwanted direction, too. Now his emotions were all over the place and much too close to the surface. So much so, he was barely keeping them in check.

“Are you sure you don’t want some wine, ladies?” Giles held the bottle up, ready to pour. “It’s very good.”

“Neither I nor my girls would ever touch the demon drink, Lord Bellingham.” Lucretia frowned when Diana held out her glass rebelliously, so instead, the mad actress turned to Vee. “Keep your elbows off the table, dear.” She had been giving the girl motherly pointers all day and seemed oblivious to the youngest Merriwell’s increasingly bubbling hostility. To her credit, Vee hadn’t retaliated. She had ignored all the cloying fake mothering through gritted teeth while she still used all the wrong cutlery. “Tables are for plates not for elbows.”

“The plates have been cleared.” If looks could kill, then Vee’s was in danger of bludgeoning the actress to death.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minerva’s hand pat her sister’s leg beneath the table, and reluctantly the elbows were removed. “Are you looking forward to the ride back, Vee? You looked like a natural horsewoman born in the saddle.”

“Oh, she is!” said Lucretia, clutching her bosom dramatically. “It was poetry in motion.” Vee blossomed at the compliment. “She takes after me on that score.” Then fresh daggers shot out of the young girl’s eyes. “I’ve always had a way with horses.”

“Well, thankfully she doesn’t take after me.” Minerva was like a diplomat overseeing a tense treaty. “I think we can all agree my horsemanship was a disaster.” Her eyes sought his for support. “As Hugh will attest, I couldn’t get off or on without incident.”

“True.” Sensing she wanted more than a nod, he choked out the longest sentence he had managed in over an hour. “She practically flattened me on the dismount.” His nose had been in her hair. She had smelled of roses. He had felt the soft press of her breasts against his rib cage. The sultry curve of her hips beneath his hands. Had almost succumbed and kissed her in the intoxicating heat of the moment. Was it any wonder he hadn’t seen Sarah until it was too late to escape?

“I did warn you I was uncoordinated.”

“If it’s any consolation, what you lacked in coordination, you more than made up for in entertainment. Watching you in the paddock gave me my first thorough belly laugh of the morning.” Giles toasted her with his tankard. “I’m devastated I missed the dismount. It sounds magnificent.”

Hugh wasn’t devastated. It was bad enough Minerva had had to witness the stilted meeting with Sarah. Thank goodness nobody else had. The very last thing he needed was Giles sticking his intuitive nose in and laying all his sordid past secrets bare.

“It will be better next time. I hope. Now that I know one needs to release the foot from the stirrup before vacating the saddle. Although I think my riding improved toward the end—before the catastrophic dismount.”

Her eyes sought his again for affirmation, and Hugh nodded while struggling to smile. It felt false on his face. Damn Sarah for opening old wounds when he had enough on his plate already. “Much improved. By the end you showed genuine shoots of coordination.”

“Only shoots?” Her mock despair made her youngest sister smile. “Oh dear. And I thought I was doing so well.”

“It’s a mystery why you are so uncoordinated, Minerva.” Lucretia was fully immersed in Mrs. Landridge. Her eyes had gone predictably misty, signaling another heartfelt, fabricated recollection from the past she had created inside her theatrical, baffling, slightly scary mind. “Her father, God rest him, had a fine seat. We used to ride together every day when we were first married … before the children, of course…” Her hand sneaked across the table, grabbed Vee’s. Squeezed. “I miss your dear papa so dreadfully! Why did he have to die?”

Vee’s tenuous hold on her emotions finally collapsed, and she shot up like a firework, angry tears already leaking from her eyes and her chair falling noisily backward in the process. “He’s not dead! Stop talking about him as if you knew him!” Her palms slammed down on the table, knocking over two thankfully empty cups, then she stormed out of the room.

“Vee!” Minerva was out of her seat just as fast. Then she, too, bolted, no doubt to placate her sullen sister yet again until the next immature tantrum exploded.

“Did I go too far?” Lucretia seemed stunned by the outburst.