Read Online The Courtship by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online Page A

when no one could best him at it.
    No, surely that was impossible. She was a big girl with big lungs, but he was a man. He decided he would practice when he was alone. “Your hair is falling down,” he said, pulling up a spike of grass and chewing on it.
    She calmly wound the thick braid of hair round and round her head, tucked it into itself, then smashed her riding hat down over it.
    â€œMy mare’s name is Eleanor, named after the wife of King Edward the First.”
    â€œYou are a historian, Miss Mayberry?”
    â€œIn a manner of speaking, sir.”
    â€œI was lucky this time, Miss Mayberry. I don’t believe you broke anything when you landed on me. Come now, what did you really do, hurl yourself off Eleanor’s back?”
    â€œYes. It gave me a bit of a scare. I was surprised you didn’t hear me.”
    â€œI was hunkered down against Luther’s neck, breathing in his sweat and thinking about my mistress and the many ways she teases me to distraction.”
    Her voice was colder than the wooden floor beneath his bare feet in February when she said, “You don’t currently have a mistress.”
    â€œWhy don’t you give me a list of your sources and I can provide them accurate information for you?”
    She waved her gloved fist under his nose. “Why haven’t you come to see me, damn you? Why haven’t you even sent me some nice posies, a poem praising my eyebrows, anything that gentlemen regularly do? It has been three days.”
    He chewed on the grass, gave her a lazy smile, and leaned back, bracing himself on his elbows. “I am a man, Miss Mayberry. I do the chasing.”
    She rose very slowly to stand over him, her hands on her hips. “There was no chasing. You weren’t doing anything at all.”
    â€œPsychological discipline. I would have acted when I felt it was appropriate. I am much better at this form of discipline than you are, Miss Mayberry. I would never take the chance of killing my prey, as you just tried to do. A mathematician could have told you that the weight of such a big girl hurtling through the air would flatten most poor mortals, rendering them beyond earthly cares. Behold me. Even I am nearly expired, and I am a very large male mortal.”
    â€œYou are no such thing. I mean, you are large, but you are not nearly dead. You are whining, Lord Beecham. It is not appealing.”
    He sighed. “I fear you are right. The next time you choose to do the chasing, however, I would ask that you consider something along a more intellectual, rather than physical, approach.”
    â€œI didn’t have time to think of anything else. You see, my father informed me over breakfast this morning—yes, the dining room still reeks of smoke—that he wishes to return home next week.”
    â€œAh, then, that certainly changes things. That forces my hand.” He rose, dusted himself off, and straightened her hat, tucking more hair beneath it. Three small grapes decorating her bonnet had come untwisted and were hanging by the side of her cheek. He gently pulled them off and slipped them into his jacket pocket. “Very well, Miss Mayberry, would you like me to bed you and teach you a bit about my sort of discipline before you hark back to the country to all your potbellied squires and all the various and sundry short men who swoon at the sight of you?”
    Her mare lightly pushed her nose against her back. Helen laughed, turned, and patted her. “It’s all right, Eleanor, he is just being outrageous and intriguing me. I would be disappointed with anything less.” With those words, she turned back to him. “Lord Beecham, I don’t want you for a lover.”
    A dark eyebrow shot up a good inch. “I beg your pardon, Miss Mayberry? You wanted to meet me, you threw yourself at me; your ease with men and all their aberrations is remarkable, at least for a woman. Of course, you are rather long in