Devil take it, she had to stop thinking of that man, but she still didn't feel like riding, even for the diver-sion. "One day isn't going to crush him, Vana."
"I wouldn't be too sure. I believe he is quite smit-ten. Maura thinks so, and who would know better than his sister, whom he is most likely to confide in."
Jocelyn nearly snorted. The pair were as thick as thieves. If the man was smitten with anyone, it was with his sultry sister. She leaned up to see them walk-ing together near the clifflike banks of the river, deep in conversation.
Glancing at the countess, she said, "I suppose she told you that?"
"Indeed."
"Well, I wouldn't believe everything that girl tells you. IVe already caught her in one lie."
"What?"
"The other day she told me that her father had owned some of the finest racers in the eastern states, and that she so regretted their loss when everything had to be sold, even though she doesn't care to ride herself."
"So?"
"So the first time I allowed Miles to try Sir George, he remarked that he'd always wanted to own a Thor-oughbred, but that his family had only kept carriage horses, which were all that was necessary in the city."
Vanessa found that merely amusing, if her chuckle was any indication. "It's very common to want to impress someone of your stature, my dear. You should know that by now. The girl is merely a bit prideful and envious. That's nothing to be concerned over."
"I wasn't concerned. I just wouldn't accept everything she says as the literal truth."
"Very well. But in this instance, concerning Miles' affections, I'm inclined to agree with her. I've seen the way he dotes on you myself, after all. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you don't get a proposal long before we reach the railroad that will take them back East."
"I wouldn't be surprised either."
Vanessa frowned. "So, you do know he's smitten. Whyever have we been arguing about it, then?"
Jocelyn grinned. "I wouldn't call this discussion an argument, Vana. And I didn't agree he's smitten."
"But you said—"
"That I wouldn't be surprised if he proposes. How many proposals have I had in the past three years?"
Vanessa sighed, "Too many to count. So you mink he's just another fortune hunter?"
"I'm afraid I do."
"You could be wrong, you know. Look at the attention he lavishes on you. And he's so deucedly handsome — and civilized, I might add."
That stung, so Jocelyn retorted, "He isn't likely to ignore me with my fortune on his mind."
"But what makes you so sure, my dear?"
"His eyes."
"His eyes?"
"Yes, the way he looks at me. There's nothing there, Vana, not even the tiniest spark of interest. Oh, he says all the right words, but his eyes belie every one of them. He's simply not attracted to me. But then few men are."
"More fools they," the countess said in her behalf. "It doesn't matter, dear. We weren't considering him for a husband, merely as an entertaining diversion, so don't let it bother you."
Jocelyn had to force down a smile. "I won't."
But Vanessa was having a hard time letting the idea go. "You're positive?" she asked after a moment.
This time Jocelyn did smile. "Vana!" And laugh. "He looks at you with much more warmth than he does me." At the countess's blush, she added, "Ah, you have noticed that, at least?"
"Well, I assumed you were receiving even more admiring looks," Vanessa said defensively.
"Now you know better. But don't fret about it. He has been entertaining, and quite amusing, which was partly what you hoped for, wasn't it?"
Again Vanessa blushed. "I meant well, my dear."
Jocelyn leaned over to hug her. "I know, and I love you for it. And you needn't worry about our mean-tempered guide anymore. If you haven't noticed, he's been avoiding me like the plague. It's quite over."
"Is it really?"
She didn't want to explain about the argument, not at this late date, so she said simply, "Yes." But knowing Vanessa wouldn't leave it at that, would start to pick it apart for her own assurance, she cowardly added, "I think I'll have that ride after all."
Chapter Thirty
They rode east toward the Manzano Mountains. The fast gallop brought them to the lower foothills in little time, though Jocelyn was far ahead as usual. She dis-mounted to wait for Miles to catch up, walking Sir George beneath the golden aspen and ponderosa pines that dotted the area.
She was warm after the ride, but the cold wind kept her from removing her fur-trimmed riding jacket.
They had had to dig out some of their winter clothing from the trunks with the recent weather change, a fortunate inclusion since they were likely to see snow before reaching their destination. They were also for-tunate that with so many people, there had been only a few minor colds and sniffles to date.
Miles slowed his borrowed mount as he approached the duchess. He was dreading this, but Maura had been after him to get it over with, and she was right, of course. They were running out of time with the railroads close now, and without some defi-nite encouragement from the lady, they had no excuse to continue on with her. And his other option wouldn't wait around indefinitely either.
They had assumed there would be more time, that they would all be taking the train from Santa Fe. They had since learned otherwise. The duchess's party would have to split up to "transport so many vehicles on the rails, if the new Santa Fe line even had plat-form cars to accommodate them. Jocelyn had already decided to wait until the larger depots in Denver were reached before traveling the railroads, if even then, since that half-breed had assured her she could reach Wyoming via the flatlands of the plains.
For the first time, Miles was lacking the confidence so necessary to this scheme, because he had been unable to predetermine the duchess's feelings toward him. Her direct gazes unnerved him, but gave nothing away other than a sense of amusement. He sometimes even imagined that she was laughing at him rather than with him, that she saw right through his cam-paign to win her.
Of course, his heart hadn't really been in this en-deavor from the start. The old broads of the past had been easy prey, susceptible, lonely, gullible, easily won and managed. But this young one lacked all the basic ingredients for a quick and effortless courtship. She also left him cold, despite her youth, which was what was really causing his dread of today's meeting. No matter how much she was worth, he almost hoped she would turn him down.
With self-disgust, he brought forth a smile as he dismounted. "You win again, Jocelyn."
She had allowed him the use of her name, but she still looked at him strangely each time he said it. With so many titles, she likely was simply not used to hear-ing it. Even the countess addressed her only as "my dear."
"We weren't racing, Miles. The only animals who can give Sir George a decent challenge are his mares, but their condition precludes such strenuous exer-cise."
He gritted his teeth. He always had the feeling she was condescending to him, and no doubt she was. A poor boy from Missouri, he was out of his depth deal-ing with an English aristocrat born and bred to wealth. Her damned horseflesh alone was probably worth more than he had gained from all four of his dead wives, especially if you counted the foals she was anticipating in the spring.
"Did you race him in England?" he thought to ask. She was always most agreeable when she talked about her horses, and he needed her agreeable today.