Page 41 of The Raven’s Lady

“Oh,” she said with a grin, “a most acceptable tenant. You pay the rent.”

He laughed. She was not a woman to inflate a man’s sense of himself, but there was something in her calm acceptance of imperfections that he liked.

“Anyway,” she said. “I will disabuse Mr. Kydd of the notion that I am Bluebell. So you need not fear that he will make further disclosures of your misspent youth. Did you know that he employed your messengers to spy on Hermes while you were away?”

“That does not surprise me. Jay has been horse-mad as long as I’ve known him.”

“I hope you won’t mind if I encourage him to nudge Grandmama to train Hermes.”

“Ah,” he said. “You do mean to be rid of me as a tenant.”

She gave him a questioning look. “What makes you think that?”

“If Hermes wins prizes and your grandmother reopens her stud, you won’t need to lease the hall.”

“First,” she said. “Hermes has to be willing to accept a rider. He’s had a long stretch of freedom.”

“Wait,” he said. “Is that why you’ve donned a habit? You’re not seriously considering riding him, are you?”

Her expression changed to one of gentle sorrow. “I’m not the rider for Hermes, but I will sit on his back today and show him that he’s not to blame for any … of this, of the changes here. He is young and strong, and perhaps Mr. Kydd will know someone to ride him as he deserves to be ridden.”

“Of course,” he said. It made sense that she would turn to Jay Kydd for advice about a horse. Jay would be helpful and knowing. Raven just wished his friend were not so charming.

*

“Bluebell!”

At the cry, Cassie turned. Jay Kydd strode toward them, his face darkened by a frown.

“What’s this, Raven? You’ve turned poacher on me. I thought the only rule was to stay away from earls’ daughters.” Kydd turned his glare on Cassie.

“Mr. Kydd, I beg your pardon,” Cassie said. “I owe you an explanation.”

“Who are you then?” Kydd demanded.

“Jay, may I present Lady Cassandra Lavenham,” said Raven.

“You’re Her Grace’s granddaughter?” Kydd stiffened, and his expression changed from wrath to chagrin. He gave Cassie a brief, formal bow. “Well, my lady, I guess the joke is on me.”

“Mr. Kydd,” said Cassie, extending her hand. “I apologize for the deception. You were never meant to be the object of a joke. I thought only that you might not speak to me if you believed I was a person of … rank.”

“Like your grandmother?” He cocked a brow at her. His gaze took in her blue riding habit, which, she had to admit, was just what Grandmama would wear.

“Yes, but you will forgive me.” He still hadn’t taken her hand, but she refused to bend.

“Will I?”

“Yes. Because I’m going to take you to see Hermes run and help you talk Grandmama round to letting him race.”

The play of expressions on Kydd’s face was comical, offended male pride warring with his mad love of horses.

At last, he shook her hand, and his grin broke through. “You do know how to get around a man. What am I to call you then?”

The three messenger boys surrounded Kydd, tugging at his coat. “We calls ’er Lady C,” announced Joe. “And you owe us a bob each.”

“Lady C it is, then,” said Kydd. He dug in his pocket and produced a jingle of coins, dropping one in each of the boys’ outstretched hands. “Let’s see that horse.”

*