He tried to see her as if for the first time rather than as the girl he’d come to know. With her wild hair, eccentric costume and bare feet, and her refusal to meet anyone’s eyes, he feared that she fulfilled her reputation for lunacy. He wanted to shout that she wasn’t like that, that she was bright and perceptive and had the soul of an artist, but doing so would merely make him appear equally mad.
By the time the steward emerged from the office, almost a dozen people were watching from various vantages around the farmstead. In the middle of the yard, Meriel held Moonbeam so still, they looked like a statue. Dominic kept a watchful eye on her, praying that she wouldn’t bolt under all the attention.
Mr. Kerr, a solid man with shrewd eyes, said, “Would you be Lord Maxwell?”
“I am. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kerr.” Dominic offered his hand.
The steward gave him a firm handshake as he studied Dominic with the interest of a man summing up a possible future employer. No doubt everyone in the neighborhood knew of “Maxwell’s” visit to Warfield. Kerr had probably been waiting for a call.
Dominic continued, “Have you ever met Lady Meriel?”
Kerr allowed his gaze to go to Meriel with unabashed interest. “We met once when Lord Amworth took me to Warfield, but I doubt she’d remember. Welcome to Swallow Farm, my lady.”
Probably when they’d met the first time she had ignored the steward as she ignored most people. She was staring across the yard now, as if willing her surroundings to vanish. But—she wasn’t running.
“Yesterday I met a young man called Jem Brown who is in dire need of work,” Dominic explained. “I took the liberty of suggesting that he call on you tomorrow. I don’t know if you can use another laborer, but he looked willing. If you don’t need him, perhaps you know someone in the area who does.”
“The haying will begin soon, so I can use more hands,” Kerr replied. “If the lad is a hard worker, there’s a place for him here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kerr. That’s very kind of you.” Dominic saw the sardonic glint in the steward’s eye at the comment. Both of them knew perfectly well that the steward would hire anyone recommended by Lady Meriel’s potential husband. Now it was up to Jem to behave himself and give up poaching. Or at least have the sense not to get caught.
“Would you like a tour of the home farm? Or the tenant farms?” Kerr offered. “The tenants would be delighted to meet you.”
“Not today, thank you.” Dominic glanced at Meriel. The sooner he got her away from here, the better. Besides, as much as he would enjoy a tour, it wouldn’t do to let a sharp-eyed fellow like Kerr get close enough to know him well. “Perhaps another time.”
After an exchange of farewells, Dominic turned his horse to leave. Instantly Meriel and Moonbeam fell into step beside him. She maintained her taut control as they walked from the farmyard. A dozen people waited outside, hungry for a glimpse of the mythical Lady Meriel. How the devil had they gotten word of her presence so quickly?
Head high and back ramrod straight, she rode past the onlookers like a queen. Dominic gave a sigh of relief. She had done it.
His relief was premature. As soon as they were clear of the farmstead and watchers, Moonbeam took off like an angry hornet. He set Pegasus in pursuit, regretting that he had coaxed Meriel into this expedition.
A barred gate crossed the lane ahead. Earlier Dominic had opened it so they could ride through. This time—dear God, she wasn’t slowing down, she was going to jump it! A tall gate, on a strange horse, and a rider who hadn’t been on horseback since she was a child. Had she done any jumping when she was so young?
He pounded after them, heart in his mouth. If Moonbeam hit the top bar, both horse and rider might break their necks.
The mare thundered headlong toward the gate. She was in a good position, she was lifting into the air…
Horse and rider soared over the gate, making a perfect landing on the other side. Torn between relief and a desire to wring Meriel’s neck, Dominic took Pegasus over the gate as well, but he didn’t catch up with her until she reached the gate to the park. There she reined in her mount and waited for him, demure as a pair of kid gloves.
“You ride like a centaur,” he said tartly. “And almost stopped my heart in the process.”
Her eyes widened with such innocence that he knew she was baiting him. Grinning, he dismounted and opened the gate. “After what you’ve achieved today, I suppose you’re entitled to your fun. But if I have gray hairs tomorrow, it will be your fault.”
She took off for home at an easy trot, her enchanting laughter floating behind her. At times like this, he was almost sure that she understood him.
When they reached the stables, Dominic dismounted from Pegasus and led him inside. Regally Meriel rode Moonbeam into the building with plenty of room to spare between her head and the ceiling.
“Just a moment and I’ll help you dismount,” he said to Meriel as he removed Pegasus’s saddle.
Her brows arched with delicate scorn. He chuckled, feeling as if they were having a real conversation. “I know you can get down easily enough, sprite, but it’s time you learned how a lady behaves. You’ll enjoy being a hoyden more if you know how outrageous your conduct is.”
Though the last leg of their ride had been slow enough to cool the horses, they still needed to be rubbed down. He’d give Meriel a quick lesson. While she had servants for menial work, a true horsewoman must understand how to care for a horse herself.
He led Pegasus into the stall and temporarily threw a blanket over him. Then he went to Moonbeam and raised his arms to assist Meriel down. “I don’t suppose you were taught grooming when you were five years old, so we’ll have a lesson before dinner.”
She swung her leg over the mare, then rested her hands on his shoulders and dismounted. But she didn’t settle lightly on the ground like a seasoned gentlewoman rider. Instead, she came into his arms like a woman running to her lover. He turned rigid, instinctively catching her against him. This was not what he had intended—but dear God, she felt so good!
Torn between wanting to hold her and knowing he must let her go, he reluctantly loosened his grip. A proper lady would have stepped away. Meriel slowly, deliberately, slid down the front of his body, every supple curve impressing itself on him like flame.
Then she turned her face up to his, her eyes clear and intent. He wanted to kiss those soft, parted lips. He wanted to loosen her hair so he could bury his face in its shimmering magnificence. Most of all, he wanted to make love to her until they were both senseless with fulfillment.
As he stood frozen, she touched his lips with her fingertips in unmistakable invitation, a faint smile on her face. Helplessly he drew her index finger into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue. She began sliding her finger in and out with natural sensuality. How could something so simple be so arousing?
Because everything about her aroused him. God help him, it was impossible to deny any longer how much he desired her. This wild woman sprite affected him, body and soul, as no one ever had before.
Shakily reminding himself of all the reasons that he mustn’t continue this, he caught her hand and moved it away. “Meriel…”
Before he could say more, she slipped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. He retreated, and she followed with the sweet insistence of a puppy swarming up her owner, seeking treats.
He halted when his back flattened against the wall, but she kept going, walking up onto his boots. Her small bare feet scarcely dented the leather, but she gained several inches of height.
Then she kissed him full on the mouth, her hands stroking his neck and into his hair. Her lips were unskilled, but marvelously soft. Questing.
Common sense vanished, and he kissed her back. She tasted like wild strawberries, as fresh and luscious as the springtime. Small delicate bones, but strong, so strong. He stroked her back, cupping her hips, drawing her against him.
“You are so lovely,” he murmured into her mouth. Then
he kissed her throat. Her head fell back, and she gave a breathy sigh. She was an innocent with an appetite as ancient as Lilith, the first temptress. He was aching hard, almost mindless with desire as his body throbbed against hers.
He was reaching for her breast when a solid head butted into his ribs, jarring him from his sensual haze. He blinked dizzily and saw that Moonbeam, abandoned by her rider, was trying to eat his coat. Specifically, his pocket. He gave an unsteady laugh. “You want some more sugar, don’t you, girl?”
Not daring to look into Meriel’s eyes, he firmly moved her to one side so that her toes wouldn’t get mashed by steel-shod hooves. Then he dug a lump of sugar from his coat pocket with shaking fingers and offered it to the mare. She happily slurped it from his palm, then gave him a melting gaze in hopes of more.
Trying to pretend that scorching embrace had never happened, he caught Moonbeam’s reins. “You and Pegasus need to be rubbed down.”
He led the mare to her stall, thinking that he owed her a whole loaf of sugar for saving him from temporary insanity. Christ, what could be madder than wanting to lie with his brother’s future wife? The potential for damage to everyone involved was horrifying. Despite Meriel’s innocent enthusiasm, she couldn’t possibly understand the implications of what she was inviting him to do. The physical aspects of sex were relatively simple. It was the emotional and moral consequences that raised hell.
Damnation, why wasn’t Kyle here, wooing his bride himself?
His best efforts at control could not quell the throbbing in his groin, or the desire to teach Meriel what she was so eager to learn. He glanced over his shoulder. She stood where he had left her, fists clenched at her sides and her eyes dark with passion. He might be constrained by multiple reasons to keep his distance, but she wasn’t.
She wanted him. And gods above, if he had a grain of sense he would leave Warfield immediately, for he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to refuse her again.
Chapter 16
Kyle knocked lightly, then entered Constancia’s cabin. She lay on the small chaise, gazing into a hand mirror as she applied a faint blush of rouge to her cheeks with a hare’s foot. When Kyle entered, she made a rueful face. “Alas, querido, you have caught me. Isn’t it amazing how vanity persists even at the end of life? One of the seven deadly sins, and enough to condemn me to the fire even if I hadn’t committed most of the other sins as well.”
Glad she was strong enough to be concerned with her appearance, he kissed one thin, perfume-scented hand before taking the chair opposite the chaise. “Why shouldn’t you have a care for your looks, La Paloma? After all, your face has been your fortune.”
She sighed, her animation fading to reveal underlying fatigue. “And a mixed fortune it has been. My curse, and my survival.”
“Your beauty a curse?” The thought saddened him, for he had taken such pleasure in her classical loveliness.
She stroked the chased silver back of the mirror, expression brooding. “I had a sister, only a year older than I. As little girls we were very close, but as we grew, we became…competitive. She was pretty, but not so pretty as me. And I, shameless creature, flaunted my beauty. My family was of the hidalgo class, rather like your gentry, but I had larger plans. I boasted of the grand husband I would have, the wealth and jewels that would be mine, because surely my father would marry me into the nobility. My mother encouraged my dreams, for my success would be her triumph.”
He was surprised but intrigued, since Constancia never referred to her past. The bare outlines that he knew were common knowledge. Hoping to encourage the flow of reminiscence, he observed, “It’s natural for mothers to take pride in their daughters.”
“But it should not be done at the price of another daughter.” She rested her head against the arm of the chaise, her expression distant. “My sister, María Magdalena, was better and sweeter than I. She lacked my ambitions and wished for us to be friends, but I made that difficult. Then war came, and my family was destroyed. I heard my sister screaming as the…the soldiers assaulted her.” Constancia’s eyes closed and pain spasmed across her face. “Her screams stopped when they cut her throat.”
He stared, shocked to his marrow at her flat recitation. “You heard her die?”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled bitterly. “I also was ravished that day, but because of my beauty, an officer claimed me for himself. He thought me too lovely to kill. So instead, after he and his brother officers dishonored me, I was left to starve by the ruins of my home and the bodies of my family.”
He took her hand, wishing helplessly that he could change the past. “Querida, I am so sorry. No one should have to endure such wickedness. The wonder is that you didn’t go mad.”
Her eyes opened, dark and piercing as she looked directly at him. “When the hand of God strikes, there is little that a mere mortal can do. But I have never forgiven myself for the fact that my sister and I died estranged, and the fault was mine. I would give every valuable I ever possessed for the chance to tell her how much I loved her.”
He understood then why she was revealing so much of herself. Withdrawing his hand from hers, he said dryly, “You’re giving me advice about my brother, aren’t you?”
“There is no time for subtlety. One day María Magdalena and I were sharing a maid and I was taunting her with the fine marriage offer my father had received. The next day she and the world I knew were dead.” Constancia swallowed, her throat painfully thin. “I have sometimes thought she died so quickly as the reward for her good soul. I, being wicked, was not granted that grace.”
Her words created pain deep inside him. “Has your life been so dreadful that you wish you had died then?”
Her eyes softened. “There have been compensations, mi corazón. I have had better fortune than I deserved. But it is not the life I would have chosen.”
He was a fool for taking her words personally; of course she wouldn’t have chosen the tragedy she had endured. But without it, they would never have met. Selfishly, he wanted her to be glad to have known him in spite of all that implied.
She interrupted his thoughts to ask, “If you returned to England and found your brother suddenly dead, would you be satisfied with the state of your relations with him?”
No. The answer was instant. He’d always thought the tension between him and Dom was merely a phase. Eventually his brother would start acting sensibly, and they would be friends again. Yet—life was uncertain. If something happened to Dominic, would he feel the kind of guilt Constancia felt about María Magdalena?
Not liking the answer, he said defensively, “You said that your sister wished to be friends. My brother has shown no wish to rebuild our relationship. He persists in the same kind of bullheaded idiocy that he has shown since we were boys.”
“It is rare for only one person to be at fault, mi corazón,” Constancia murmured. “Can you truly say that all the trouble between you is caused by him?”
Angrily he got to his feet and walked to a port. Outside, a squall spattered rain into a pewter gray sea. “I’ve always done my part, but Dominic persists in wasting his life. He could have joined me at Cambridge and studied for the church, but he wouldn’t.”
He had hoped so much that his brother would agree. They would have become close again. Dom’s refusal had been like a slap in the face. “My father bought him a commission in the cavalry. He became bored and sold out after a year. He could travel to the ends of the earth, learning and exploring and writing me letters of what he has seen. Instead, he spends his days on the shallowest of pleasures. If I had his opportunities…” He cut off the bitter words, hating the resentment he heard in his voice.
“Most men would say that the opportunities are all yours,” she said shrewdly. “Do you envy his freedom? Despise him for not using it the same way you would?”
He flinched as if she had struck him. Of course he didn’t envy Dominic! The power, the wealth, came to the elder son. Kyle had been born for that. Why should he be jealous of
the fact that his brother was…free?
He closed his eyes, feeling as if he were choking. Why should he want to weep when he was the lucky one?
Chapter 17
By the time Dominic had finished rubbing down the horses, belatedly aided by the elderly groom, he barely had time to wash and change before dinner. He was rather glad that Meriel skipped the meal; he would have had trouble eating with her sitting across from him, looking alarmingly desirable.
Her presence was felt in the centerpieces, however. The splendid globes of rhododendrons might have been picked by anyone, but only Meriel would think to arrange the blooms in masses that spilled from a battered tin watering can in a lavender river.
As he took his seat, chatting easily with Mrs. Marks, he studied the flower arrangement. “The centerpiece is like Meriel’s juniper hedge—unconventional, but quite lovely in its own way. Look at the contrast of the flamboyant, colorful rhododendrons and the well-used, workaday watering can. Really quite dramatic and interesting, don’t you think?”
He flushed a little when he saw Mrs. Marks’s startled expression. She must be wondering if Meriel’s madness was contagious. Mrs. Rector, though, tilted her head to one side reflectively. “I believe I see what you mean, my lord. The combination is quite intriguing. Though I must admit that I would prefer a pretty china vase.”
“The arrangement is certainly original,” Mrs. Marks conceded. “But perhaps better suited to the kitchen than the center of a mahogany table.”
Dominic didn’t argue the point. Before coming to Warfield, he would have agreed wholeheartedly. Unthinkingly. Meriel was changing the way he viewed the world. He took a sip of wine. “Did you know that Meriel can ride?”
The subject, along with the other events of the day, kept the conversation lively until the three of them were ready to retire to their beds.
The Wild Child Page 14