2
So far Miss Ross had disappointed him. She had made no effort to ingratiate herself with him at dinner at all. In truth, she’d sat as far away from him as possible, and allowed the gushingly youthful and chatty Miss Emily to claim all his attention. He reckoned she had hardly spared him a glance but to laugh at his efforts to deflect the younger girl’s incessant questions about his life in the military.
He drank one obligatory glass of brandy, discussed horses with his host, which was no hardship at all, and excused himself from joining the ladies. He had no desire to sit between the debutantes and listen to them giggle all night. After his incarceration in Spain, he hated being shut in and hated the thought that he had to do anything to please anyone else at all. He’d rather be with the horses and breathe the clean, quiet air of the English countryside.
As he walked away from the house, he turned his face upward and inhaled. His cravat seemed too tight and he pulled at the carefully arranged folds until it came loose. The evening light was golden, the sky tipped with pink-edged clouds, and the horizon a hazy blurring of light and impending darkness. Gabriel lit one of his narrow Spanish cigarillos and headed down to the stables. The smell of warm oat mash and manure didn’t bother him half as much as the overperfumed and often underwashed bodies of his fellow guests.
“Now, please be a good horse and stand still.”
He halted by the stable, drawn to the sound of a now familiar French accent. What the devil was Miss Ross doing back here? He walked as quietly as he could up to the stall and peered over the door. She stood with her back against the wall, one hand reaching out toward the horse’s neck. She’d discarded the low-necked gown she’d worn to dinner, in favor of a simple blue dress and stout boots. Her hair was drawn back from her arresting face in a single long braid.
“May I help you, Miss Ross?”
She jumped so violently that the horse followed suit and almost knocked her over. Instantly, Gabriel joined her in the stall and used his voice to calm the frightened animal, his hands to soothe and placate.
“You frightened me.”
He glanced over at her, but kept his hand on the horse’s rope halter, his attention on the high-spirited mare. “You frightened the horse. Don’t you know any better?”
“The horse was perfectly fine until you came along.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He wanted to smile at the indignity of her tone, but kept his expression bland. “You could’ve been trampled or kicked.”
“I know.” She swallowed hard, and he noticed the pallor on her face, the terrified look in her hazel eyes.
“Miss Ross, if you are afraid of horses, why are you here?”
She looked directly at him then, as if trying to convince him that her fear meant nothing. “Because I am determined not to be.”
“So you wander into any stall and scare the living daylights out of the poor animal?”
“I didn’t scare her! You did.”
Gabriel gave the mare one last reassuring pat. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion outside.” He opened the stall door and waited for Miss Ross to move past him before checking the latch was secure. She lingered in the narrow cobbled passageway between the stalls, her arms folded across her chest and her cheeks flushed. She looked far younger in her plain clothes than in her dinner finery, and far more vulnerable. He found himself intrigued by the contrast.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, what?” She glared at him and he was reminded anew of her ability to disconcert him. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”
He closed in on her and deliberately blocked her exit. “That is true.”
She sighed. “But you will not let me pass until I do.”
He nodded and settled his shoulder more comfortably against the cold stones behind him. Eventually she looked at him.
“My father loves horses.”
“Aye, he does.”
“And I’m afraid of them.”
Gabriel frowned. “Did you have a fall recently? Have you lost your nerve?”
“Lost my nerve? I’ve never had it.” Her smile was derisive. “I’m simply an appalling rider.”
He studied her from the tips of her boots to the top of her head. “I find it hard to believe your father would have allowed that. He must have set you on a horse as soon as you were able to stand.”
“I’ve only been riding for three years.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t grow up here with my father. I grew up in France.”
It was none of his business where she had grown up or how she had been raised, but Gabriel found himself wanting to ask anyway. It seemed they had more in common than he had imagined: both displaced as children, both trying to overcome unusual circumstances in their lives. He curbed the unusual impulse and concentrated on the problem at hand.
“I could teach you.”
“Why would you do that?”
He shrugged. “Because the idea that anyone is too scared to ride appalls me. And it will give me something to do with my time rather than hiding in my room avoiding the other guests.” He motioned back at the stalls. “Is that the horse you normally ride?”
“Yes, that’s Sugarplum. I was trying to reacquaint myself with her before the hunt at the weekend.”
“Then meet me here tomorrow morning at five, and we’ll begin.”
She stared at him for a long moment and he stared right back, felt his body tighten and respond to the surprise in her hazel eyes.
She nodded. “All right, I will.”
He bowed and started to turn away and then remembered something important. “Borrow some breeches. I’ll teach you how to ride astride first.” He didn’t wait to see if she protested. If he was to teach her properly, he needed to see her legs. He smiled into the darkness and imagined those legs wrapped around his hips as he fucked her.
It was a long time since he’d been inspired to fantasize about sex, and his cock responded far too enthusiastically. Miss Ross was an unusual woman. Beneath her charm and ability to appear as empty-headed as all society women obviously lurked a keen mind and a sharp tongue. He found himself excited by the contradictions she presented and far too ready to take her on. Unfortunately, as a protected upper-class virgin, Miss Ross was unlikely to share his lusty enthusiasm for a quick roll in the hay. He sighed as his shaft started to throb. Tonight he’d simply have to make do with his imagination and his hand.
Lisette glared after Lord Swanfield’s retreating figure. Why on earth had she agreed to meet him on the morrow or believe that he would help her? Something about the way he had calmed the horse and his softly spoken words had lulled her into a state of security. He seemed far more at ease with Sugarplum than he was with her, or with any of the other guests.
She sighed and started back up the slight slope to the house after him. He could at least have waited and escorted her inside, but that might have caused comment, and he avoided notice like the plague. She’d watched him surreptitiously over dinner, how he’d flinched at every loud noise and every slight brush of Emily’s hand.
Had he suffered during the war? He was certainly physically scarred by it. Perhaps beneath his silence lay unimaginably awful experiences. When she got back to Town, she would inquire of her army friends as to exactly what Major Lord Gabriel Swanfield had gotten up to in the recent conflict. Perhaps that would help her understand him better.
She’d always enjoyed a puzzle and Lord Swanfield was certainly a challenge. Having caught her at a disadvantage, he’d seen her at her most vulnerable, stripped of artifice, and he hadn’t seemed to mind. In truth, something in his brusque manner encouraged her to be just as blunt, which was almost refreshing.
The house, ablaze with light, welcomed her, but she avoided the main entrance and turned toward the kitchen door. She didn’t want Christian to know she’d been out or guess whom she’d met; he was far too astute not to notice her interest in the enigmatic Lord Swanfield. And she was interested. She could no longer fool herself that she wasn’t. His unexpected appearance in the barn, and his surprising offer, had intrigued her.
Was he worth taking up Emily’s wager for? Lisette smiled at the direction of her thoughts. Surely not. All she had to do was get up early the next morning and see if he really was a man of his word.
Gabriel checked his pocket watch and muttered a curse as he looked up at the house. There was no sign of Miss Ross, and it was now two minutes past five. She’d probably played him for a fool and was sleeping happily in her bed, laughing at him in her dreams. He stuffed his battered watch back into his pocket and turned toward the elegant lines of the impeccably kept stables.
His stupid impulse to help her had been exactly that: stupid. He should know by now that society ladies were far too shallow and frivolous to actually keep their promises. More fool him for imagining that Miss Ross was somehow different. He let out his breath and started toward the stables. Since he was up, he might as well take Wellington out and try his paces.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Gabriel stopped walking and looked back over his shoulder. Miss Ross had appeared on the path, her cheeks flushed as if she had been running. He took out his watch and checked it again.
“You’re late.”
Her eyes widened at his tone and her chin went up. “Hardly.”
“Almost five minutes late.”
“And it makes a difference because?”
He scowled at her. “Because I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
She kept walking until her boots were lined up in the gravel with his and poked him in the chest. “I’m not one of your men and this isn’t the army. If you have other things to do, I’ll wish you good morning and go back to bed.”
He looked down at her for a long moment and grudgingly admired the lack of fear in her eyes and the way she stood up to him. “Don’t be late next time.”
“Yes, sir.” She pretended to salute him. “Now, are you going to teach me how to ride properly or not?”
“Aye. Your horse is already saddled and I’ve spoken to Mr. Green.”
“Good, then shall we cease wrangling and be off?”
He bowed and gestured to the mounting block by the old red-brick wall. “Wait here.”
She did as he asked and climbed up the three steps to stand on the top of the old stone step. From this angle Gabriel had the perfect view of her long, shapely legs encased in tight buckskin. She looked well, dressed as a man. He immediately wondered whose clothes she had borrowed, imagined her wearing just his shirt instead, her legs riding his hips….
“My lord?” A young voice interrupted him and he found himself staring down at the gap-toothed stable boy.
“Thank you, lad.” He took Sugarplum’s reins from the stable boy and led the horse over toward Miss Ross. “I want to see you mount up.”
She paused, one hand on the horse’s saddle. “Why? I can manage this part.”
“I’m sure you can, but I want to see your seat and check your stirrup position.” He waited until she swung herself into the small saddle and pushed her booted feet into the stirrups. “Ah, the stirrups are too long. Let me fix them for you.”
He slid his hand under Miss Ross’s knee to release her foot from the stirrup. She jumped and the horse sidestepped and threw back its head. He realized her calm demeanor was a sham. “It’s all right, lass.” Instinctively he smoothed his hand down her shin and back up over her knee in an endless caress until she stopped shaking.
“Are you talking to me or the horse?”
Her tremulous question made him look up from her boot to her pale face. He stared into her eyes and couldn’t look away. The mixture of courage and fear in them was one he was so familiar with, he could almost taste it. “Both of you.” He squeezed her ankle. “You both need to relax.”
She sighed and he felt the vibrations all the way through his fingers. “I was thrown recently. I was very lucky not to be trampled to death.”
“That’s enough to scare anyone.” He patted her knee and let go of her ankle. “I’ve changed the stirrups. I’ll mount up now. Will you be all right?”
“Yes, of course.”
He admired the lilt of her voice even as he doubted its validity. “Perhaps you can show me a nice level field or piece of ground away from the house where we can practice undisturbed.”
She nodded and gathered the reins the stable boy held out to her. She pointed down the hedge-lined row to the right of them. “There is a field down by the stream we can use.”
He clicked at Wellington, enjoying the way the big horse responded so easily to his commands, and backed him up to join Miss Ross. “We’ll walk the horses down there. I want you to concentrate on relaxing in the saddle and keeping your balance.”
Without repeating himself or checking to see that Miss Ross was attending to him, he squeezed the reins lightly and set off. Wellington’s long, even stride was a pleasure of effortless ease compared to some of the horses he’d been forced to ride in the treacherous mountain campaigns in Spain. He remembered his last desperate ride, his fear as the mule lost its footing and slithered down the rock pile, the pain and blackness descending over him.
He forced his thoughts back to the present. “Yes, Miss Ross?”
“Do you want me to get down and open the gate?”
“I’ll do it.” He sounded far too blunt, but during his captivity he’d gotten out of the habit of speaking. Speaking led to punishment and he’d had enough of that to almost kill him. Much better to stay silent and endure. It had also infuriated his captors immensely.
He opened the gate and led Wellington through, waited for Miss Ross to join him, and then shut it again. Once remounted, he turned to face her.
“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Take your feet out of the stirrups; tie your reins onto the saddle and cross your arms over your chest.”
By the time the stable clock struck six times, Lisette was halfway between wanting to kill Lord Swanfield and kiss him. He’d made her perform endless tasks to perfect her balance and help her regain her confidence. In truth, she felt much more secure on the horse than she ever had before. But she also felt sore and close to tears as he ordered her around like a scullery maid, his moments of approval so rare she found herself trying hard to earn the slightest hint of a smile.
She cleared her throat. “I need to go back. I have to be at the breakfast table to greet my father’s guests.”
He frowned and glanced at the distant stable clock. “We’ve only been here an hour.”
“And an hour is all I have to spare.” Lisette headed toward the gate and waited for him to follow. “If you wish to keep riding, I’m sure I can find my way back to the stable alone.”
“No, I’ll accompany you. But can you wait a moment while I try out this horse?”
“Of course.” Lisette summoned a gracious smile. He didn’t bother to reply, just swept by her into a fast posting trot, a canter, and then into a full gallop. She could do nothing but admire his prowess. He moved as if his body was part of the horse, his hands relaxed on the reins, his hips rolling with each motion. She also knew he wasn’t doing it to impress her; his focus was totally on the horse.
After a few minutes, he drew to a thundering stop an inch from her horse and grinned at her. His smile was so dazzling she blinked, and then it was gone.
“I think I’ll buy this horse.”
“I’m sure my father will be delighted.”
Gabriel jumped down to open the gate and then remounted.
“You ride as if you were born on a horse. Did your father put you up there as a baby?”
“By the time I knew of him, my father was too old to do anything with me.” His mouth twisted. “I spent most of my early life in the stables annoying the coachmen, until they took me in hand and made sure I learned, not only how to behave, but how to ride and care for my horses.”
“At least you learned. I grew up in a French convent.”
He turned to look at her, his black hair disordered by the wind, his cheeks flushed with color. “Not many horses there, then.”
“No, none at all.” She wondered if he’d inquire further about her unusual upbringing, almost hoped he would, but wasn’t entirely surprised that his interest lay in the lack of horses at the nunnery rather than her plight. The stable yard came into sight, and Lisette saw the small stable boy perched on the fence waiting for them.
“Thank you for your help.”
He shrugged. “You did well.”
The horses stopped and the boy ran to their heads to hold the reins. Lisette turned to find Lord Swanfield waiting to lift her down. She managed to swing her leg over the saddle, but when she tried to kick her other foot free she found the strength in her knees gone and clutched at his solid form.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.”
She obeyed, simply because she had no choice, and felt the warmth of his body and the flex of his muscles beneath the fine wool of his coat. His hands closed around her waist and he slowly brought her down to the ground, her body aligned with his. Behind her, she heard the stable boy whistling to the horses as he walked them away. Lord Swanfield didn’t release her and she made the mistake of looking up at him. He bent his head and kissed her, nipped at her lower lip until she opened her mouth to his tongue.
With a groan he backed her up against the shadows of the stable wall where no one could see them. His kiss was as hot and possessive as she had hoped—had she hoped for this? This torrent of unexpected emotion, this desire to open herself to him and for him?
She wrenched her mouth away from his. “I didn’t say you could kiss me.”
“I didn’t ask.” He lowered his head again and kissed her harder and she forgot to argue, just luxuriated in the sensation of being engulfed, devoured, and possessed…. His hands roamed over her body, kneaded her buttocks, and pressed her closer and closer to the thickness of his buckskin-covered erection. She stood on tiptoe and threaded her hand through his black hair, tried to fit herself against his heat and the promise of his muscular frame.
When he finally lifted his head, her lips were swollen, her breath coming in pants.
“Was there something you wanted to ask me, Miss Ross?”
“What?” Confused, she sought his eyes and saw lust and something far more watchful in his dark gaze. “What was I supposed to ask you?”
He stepped back and bowed. “It’s of no matter. I’ll see you here tomorrow at five.”
Lisette brought a trembling hand to her lips, suddenly conscious of where they were and of the possibility of prying eyes. Despite what Christian believed, she was usually very careful to behave in an appropriately ladylike manner when she was at her father’s house. But she didn’t feel ladylike. For the first time in a long while she wanted to experience the sexual joys her mother always hinted at, joys Lisette had begun to believe were not meant for her.
“Miss Ross?”
There was a hint of impatience in Lord Swanfield’s voice, as though he’d never kissed her, or as if she had disappointed him in some way. She studied his face, saw the desire he couldn’t conceal, and dropped her gaze lower to the shape of his hard shaft rising from his breeches. Had he felt anything, or was this just part of his usual morning ritual? A result of biology rather than true interest or passion?
She licked her lips and tasted coffee and pure maleness. “Do you always kiss women you have just met like that?”
He considered her for a long moment. “No. Good morning, Miss Ross.” He turned on his heel and walked away from her.
Lisette remained in the shadows until the flush on her cheeks disappeared and her heart rate returned to normal. She’d kissed a lot of men, but most of them never dared to take such liberties with her person as Lord Swanfield had. She was usually the one in control. Despite his lack of courtesy, he excited her more than any other man.
She sighed and went to find her cloak. There was no time to ponder the interesting matter of her attraction to such a man now. She needed to get ready for the day as her father’s hostess. Dare she turn up tomorrow for her riding lesson? It seemed likely that Lord Swanfield would want to continue his other, more sensual lessons as well. She shivered at the thought of him touching her again, and realized she had no choice. She’d be back in the morning whether it was safe or not.