Free Amanda Scott by The Dauntless Miss Wingrave

denizens of the place. The rhythm of the hoofbeats was steady, but her heartbeat was not, for her pulse quickened erratically. A firm believer in doing what had to be done as quickly as possible, she stood her ground, peering ahead through the overhanging tree branches and encroaching shrubbery, as certain as she could be of the oncoming rider’s identity.
    Nor was she mistaken. Looking powerful and dominating astride a large chestnut gelding, Meriden hove into sight out of the shady gloom into a patch of sunlight. As soon as he saw her, he reined in and dismounted, his quick smile flashing welcome as he said, speaking more rapidly than usual, “I am very glad to encounter you, Miss Wingrave.”
    “I, too,” she replied, returning his smile. “I meant to look for you directly after breakfast. I have something of a decidedly important nature to say to you, sir, though I must confess it goes sorely against the grain with me.”
    “Please, for once you must let me speak first,” he said. “I am a poor hand at apologies and if you interrupt me, I shall be sure to lose my thread.”
    “But ’tis I who must apologize to you!”
    “What? Have you been ordered to do so, Emmy love?” He grinned at her. “Who would dare to command you, I wonder?”
    She stamped her foot. “Do not call me by that odious name, sir, or by heaven I shall—”
    “I am sorry, Miss Wingrave,” he said contritely, taking a step toward her, his hand held out. “I ought not to have offered provocation now or last night. It was very ill done of me. Will you forgive me?”
    “Goodness,” she said, hardly noticing when he took her hand in his. “For someone out of practice, you do the thing prettily, Meriden, though I perceive that you have apologized only for provoking me, not for throwing me in the lake and ruining a practically new gown.”
    “Well, you see,” he said gently, looking down into her eyes with an impish smile tugging at his lips, “it is first your turn to apologize for the wine. By my reckoning, we can exchange apologies with each other for quite some time before we run short of subject matter. At least I did not tell lies to you.”
    “Nor I to you,” she retorted. “I never tell lies.”
    “You said you couldn’t swim.”
    “No, sir, only that I couldn’t touch bottom. I couldn’t. Not without going underwater, at all events,” she added conscientiously.
    He laughed. “I beg your pardon.” When she tried to withdraw her hand, his tightened. “Friends, Miss … Look here, I won’t go on being so dashed formal all the time. If I agree to try very hard to remember not to call you ‘Emmy love,’ which I freely admit I do only to get a rise out of you, and if I add to my other apologies one for behaving like a schoolboy at Woburn last Christmas, will you allow me to call you Emily?”
    “I will, my lord. It does seem foolish to remain so punctilious with each other when you are practically a member of the family.”
    “I am a member of the family, and both the family and my friends call me Jack, Emily.”
    “Well, but I cannot call you Cousin Jack, and—”
    “You are quibbling. I distinctly heard you cry out my name last night. If you can do so to make me look foolish, surely you can do so when I particularly request it.”
    She blushed, for until he reminded her, she had not remembered calling him by name. Indeed, she had not thought at all about what she had shouted, not at the time, nor afterward. She did not doubt his word, however, and there being nothing she could say in her own defense, she yielded gracefully. “Very well, sir, if you wish it.” She tugged at her hand again, and this time he released it.
    “So now we are friends,” he said, “and you will allow me to attend to my business here at Staithes without interference.”
    She stiffened. “If we are friends, sir, you ought to be willing to hear my opinions.”
    He frowned, but he did not answer her immediately. Instead he stood looking