Free Myriah Fire by Claudy Conn Page A

encased in a well-cut, dark brown riding jacket. She felt a tingling sensation, and on sudden impulse she dashed out of the library and out the front doors, blue velvet swishing around her body.
    She would go see Tabby, she told herself. Of course … why shouldn’t she go and see her groom?
    * * *
    Lord Wimborne had made a visit to nearby Rye, and it had proved fruitful. A meeting for the following night had been agreed upon. He rode his dark roan into the stable and found Tabby brushing down Myriah’s black stallion. Wimborne dismounted, undid the girth to his saddle, and nodded to Fletcher, who came to retrieve the tack and take the horse to pasture.
    He looked appraisingly at the black horse Tabby was grooming. He was an excellent judge of horseflesh, and the animal that stood so regally before him was certainly prime blood and must have come at quite a price. It seemed that Miss White was well able to afford what was most certainly a very expensive piece of livestock.
    He then turned his attention to Miss White’s groom and smiled amicably. “Finest piece of blood I’ve clapped my eyes on in an age.”
    Tabby beamed. “That he be.”
    “Your mistress was certainly fortunate, for I have been looking for just such an animal these three months. But, of course, I don’t get too many opportunities to go to Tattersall’s in London,” his lordship said calculatingly.
    Tabby was no fool, but he had no reason to be suspicious. He did not realize he was being pumped, and he answered candidly. “They get the best, they do, Tattersall’s.”
    Kit put his finger to his lips. “Then, she did acquire him there—your mistress? Miss … er …”
    “White!” Myriah said from the doorway, thanking providence she had arrived in time.
    Kit turned, and his habitually merry gray eyes glinted. He had wanted to see if Myriah’s groom was in on her game.
    Tabby glanced hastily from Lord Wimborne to his lady and caught the look in her eyes. He sent his own downwards.
    When Tabby looked up again it was to meet the questioning eyes of Fletcher, who had just returned. He pulled a rueful face and busied himself with cleaning the leathers.
    “Ah, Miss White,” said Kit. “We were just speaking about your magnificent black here … and where you might have purchased him.”
    “Oh? It was purchased for me … I believe at Tattersall’s. Silkie was a gift from my mother … five years ago.”
    His lordship saw a sadness hover around her eyes; he wondered about it and on impulse offered an invitation. “Would you enjoy a tour about Wimborne Park with me?”
    Myriah brightened at once. “Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you.”
    He offered his arm and stopped as if suddenly remembering. “Oh, do excuse me. I am taking you away … for apparently you came to the stables with … something in mind?” He watched her face with only a mild show of interest.
    She blushed, and he could not help but note it. I was right , he thought. The chit is hiding something .
    “I … I had wanted to speak to my groom about a matter that can certainly wait. It is so warm and lovely that … I should hate the chance of missing a guided tour.” She cast her eyes up to his and allowed him a full look.
    Fiend take her, thought Kit , she is too beautiful … and my blood will need cooling if I drink in those eyes . He led her for a time down the main drive to the pike, turning off onto a narrow trail and pointing towards a body of sea green water. “That’s Rother River, and it borders Romney Marsh.”
    “Oh, it is quite lovely here, as lovely as my own home,” Myriah said, off guard. “But wait … Romney Marsh … is that not the area notorious for harboring smugglers?”
    “Ah, yes, it has quite a reputation.”
    “Reputation? It certainly does.” Myriah snorted. “And here it is adjacent to Wimborne.”
    “Would you trust my answer?”
    “It depends—would you trust me with it?”
    He laughed. “I see trust is an issue with us, but,