Free Let Me Be The One by Jo Goodman Page B

look."
    "He has been filled with admiration for my Becket." Recognizing his name, the gelding danced in place again. "His lordship noted quite rightly that this is a prime animal."
    Southerton rolled his eyes, neatly avoiding the daggers Northam was shooting in his direction. "I might have known. He owns a pair of perfectly matched grays himself and has been known to haunt Tattersall's the evening before an auction. Still, his passion for horses is no excuse for—"
    Northam sighed heavily, bringing Southerton to an abrupt halt. "Perhaps I should excuse myself," he said wryly. "Or is it sufficient for me to own that I have been suitably chastised?"
    Elizabeth leaned over and rested her gloved hand on his scarlet forearm. She patted it lightly in much the same manner she had used to soothe Becket. Though scarely aware of her actions, or the implications, her gesture was not lost on either of the men. Southerton laughed loud and hard while the tips of Northam's ears reddened.
    Understanding came slowly to Elizabeth. Her eyes widened and she withdrew her hand quickly. Too embarrassed for words, she surreptitiously tickled Becket with her riding crop and did nothing to hold him back when he surged ahead.
    Northam and Southerton watched her head straight for the flock of scarlet coats taking their positions for the start of the hunt. "She has a fine seat," Southerton said conversationally.
    Northam's reply was an unintelligible grunt. He pulled his mount around. "Find East, won't you?"
    Southerton grinned good-naturedly. "You know, I am of the opinion it is not so terrible a thing to be treated like a horse when the Lady Elizabeth is in the saddle."
    "The lady's horse," Northam said without inflection, "is a gelding."
    There was an infinitesimal pause on Southerton's part. "I think I'll find East."
    "A fine idea."
    Elizabeth was in conversation with Lord Allen and Mr. Rutherford when Northam drew close. He did not interrupt or give any indication he was interested in their discussion, which indeed, he was not. He noticed that Elizabeth said very little but gave the impression of being deeply engaged in the matter at hand. Without making her own opinion known she was able to leave each man thinking she had agreed with him.
    "You could be a diplomat," Northam said as they found their place. Forty hounds were barking frantically, worked up to an almost rabid frenzy as they caught the scent of a fox in the wind. The horses sensed their excitement and beat at the ground. He noticed that Elizabeth had no difficulty reining Becket in and maintaining her seat. "That was very skillfully maneuvered."
    Not certain if he was still referring to her diplomacy with Allen and Rutherford or her adroitness with Becket, Elizabeth made a brief nod and gave her attention to the groundskeeper and hounds. "Will you want to hang back?" she asked.
    "Only if it is your wish."
    "I will flank the other riders. It is safer that way. Do not think you have to accompany me or see to my welfare. There can be no sport for you in that." She lifted her chin to indicate the woods. "Do you see that break in the oaks? That is where I will allow Becket to charge. No fox has ever been run to ground there as the cover is sparse. The creature that has been bedeviling the sheep was last sighted in the thickest part of the wood. It will be a squeeze to rival Almack's during the Season."
    "I believe I shall stay with you."
    She nodded, smiling faintly. "They are ready to give the call." Alert to every shift in the landscape, Elizabeth straightened suddenly and extended her riding crop toward the far edge of the field. "Oh, look! There he is, my lord. He is a game one! I believe he is teasing the hounds!"
    Northam caught only a glimpse of a slim snout, a burnished russet pelt, and a white-tagged tail before it disappeared into the tall green grass. The blades bent and swayed as if an invisible finger were drawing a path through the field. The fox leaped once, suddenly, avoiding