Free Vixen by Jane Feather Page A

walked all around the small, fat pony. “The mare I rode at the livery stable was fourteen hands.”
    “The smallest hunter I have stands at seventeen hands,” Hugo said. “This is what you’re riding.” He caught her around the waist and lifted her into the saddle. “Once you’re established somewhere, we’ll buy you a decent horse.”
    “Ah,” Chloe said, gathering up the reins. “Well, on that subject, let me tell you my plan.”
    Hugo swung astride a rawboned gelding, casting her a sideways glance. She offered him a sunny smile. Her hair was back in its plaits, but not scraped away from her forehead as before and a few guinea-gold tendrils wisped beneath a hideous felt hat. Hugo began to wonder if he was losing his mind as a host of completely improper images filled his head.
    He pressed his heels into his mount’s flanks with abrupt speed and rode ahead of her through the arched gateway to the drive outside.
    Chloe’s pony followed with a rolling gait that promised a slow ride. Dante, securely held back by Billy, raised his head in a mournful howl as his mistress disappeared from view.
    “My plan,” Chloe said from behind Hugo. “Don’t you want to hear it?”
    He slackened speed so that she could catch up with him. Her plans so far hadn’t impressed him with their practicality. “Not particularly, if it’s anything like your previous suggestions,” he said. “But I’m sure I’m going to hear it whether I want to or not.”
    Chloe was undaunted by this less-than-enthusiastic response. “Do you have a house in London?”
    “An uninhabitable one,” he replied.
    “But money would make it habitable, wouldn’t it?”
    “What the devil are you getting at?” He turned to look at her again. The sunny smile was still in place.
    “Well, it’s simple,” she said. “You need to have a wife—”
    “I need
what?”
he exclaimed. His horse skittered on the gravel.
    “I’ve decided that that’s what you need,” she said. “You need someone to take care of you properly. I always know when people need looking after,” she added seriously.
    Vaguely, he wondered if she distinguished between people and animals.
    When his dumbfounded silence continued, she went on. “If you had a wife, perhaps you’d be able to sleep properly again, and you’d have someone to manage your household, and make sure you were comfortable. And if she had a fortune, of course, it would be perfect … since you don’t seem to have much money.” Sheregarded him, her head on one side, assessing his reaction to her diagnosis and prescription.
    “And just where am I going to find this paragon?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or scold her for impertinence.
    “In London,” Chloe said as if it were self-evident. “Where I shall find a husband, so that I can have my freedom. I’ve decided that I’m going to keep control of my fortune myself when I marry. Can that be done?”
    The sudden switch of topic was so confusing, Hugo found himself responding as if the question were a sensible one, which it most certainly was not. “Under the law, your husband has control of your fortune,” he said. “But exceptions are made.”
    “And as my guardian, you could make sure that happened?”
    Where did she get these quaint notions from? He replied with some amusement, “Yes, I could. Always assuming this putative husband was still willing to marry you.”
    “Oh, I expect he will be,” she said airily. “I’ll share my fortune with him. And if he’s anything like the curate or the butcher’s boy or Miss Anne’s nephew, nothing will put him off.”
    Hugo’s lip quivered at this matter-of-fact statement. If her previous swains had lost their heads over her when she was camouflaged in ill-fitting brown serge, it required little imagination to guess the effect she would have when properly presented. It seemed that Miss Gresham was not quite as naive as he’d thought her … or as she had chosen to present herself