Free The Toplofty Lord Thorpe by Kasey Michaels Page B

the mount he had brought along. Before the coachmen restarted the horses, Thorpe rode up to the open window and congratulated Lucy for having the good sense to absent herself from the company of his cousins. “If one of them ends up floating in the village pond, Miss Gladwin, please don’t bother trying to defend me. I confess in advance!”
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    A FTER BREAKING THEIR journey for the night at an inn Thorpe had frequented in the past—and having been treated most coldly by the innkeeper—they were once more on the road, hoping to reach Hillcrest in time for an early supper. Lucy had exited from the inn in riding dress, having cajoled and pleaded with Dexter until that young man (who was at the moment nursing a sore posterior) agreed to give up the thrill of riding his new stallion in favor of allowing Lucy the pleasure of sitting atop such a splendid animal.
    Her sidesaddle having been dutifully produced by Deirdre, who had packed everything except the drawing-room clock, Lucy talked soothingly to Dexter’s horse for some minutes before mounting with ease and riding off ahead of the coaches. Lord Thorpe, who knew he must do the right thing and ride beside her, gritted his teeth to better endure the splitting head that was the result of another bout of drowning his sorrows, and followed her.
    â€œIsn’t it a beautiful morning, my lord?” Lucy chirped merrily once she had succeeded in slowing her fresh mount down to a more manageable pace.
    â€œI would liefer it were raining,” Thorpe said, wishing himself and his pounding head inside his comfortable coach.
    Lucy pulled a face at him, blighting him with her youth and beauty. “Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss,” she prodded, unwilling to succumb to his poor mood.
    After all, she was young, she was in love, and she had finally succeeded in getting the earl off all to herself.
    â€œI am never a sourpuss,” Thorpe contradicted, raising his eyebrows at her. “I would not stoop so low. I am merely above such transports as waxing poetic merely because our thin English sun has condescended to shine. Besides, it will probably cloud over soon.”
    â€œMost assuredly, my lord,” Lucy concurred, tongue in cheek. “It may even snow.”
    â€œDon’t be flippant,” he warned, refusing to be shifted from his determined bad mood. “Do you know that our host of last evening demanded to be paid before he would show us our rooms? I have been favoring his establishment these twenty years past, and the man had the effrontery to demand his payment in advance! If your aunt had not been so weary I should have pushed on to another inn. How dare he— how dare he —treat a Rutherford that way!”
    Lucy looked at her companion, easily reading the pain and confusion that warred so with his anger. “You should have given the idiot a good bash in the noggin. Aunt Rachel and I would have understood.”
    â€œOh, and is that your answer then? To go around bashing noggins every time I am slighted because of this dratted gossip? Considering that it would seem that everyone from the Regent to the rat catcher has heard of my supposed disgrace, I do believe defending my honor could become a full-time occupation.”
    â€œOf course I’m not saying that,” Lucy saidfiercely. “Not that delivering at last one good smash to somebody’s bulbous nose wouldn’t do you a world of good, for I’m sure it would. No, what we need to do is what we have set out to do—discover who has launched this dastardly plot and clear your good name.”
    â€œIf wishes were horses, beggars might ride,” the earl said acidly. “The closer we get to Hillcrest—not to mention the more I am forced into close company with my bloodless secretary and bacon-brained heir—the more I despair of ever being able to show my face in town again. And when I look at my remaining ally—a silly chit