How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1)

by Karen Hawkins

  And now Rose was no longer pliant and deliciously aroused in his arms. Instead she was looking at him as if she’d like to shove him off his horse and ride her mare back and forth over his dead body.

  She gathered her reins and directed her horse a few paces farther down the path. The river bubbled to one side while a thick screen of trees lined the other. “We should rejoin the others.” She sent him a hard look. “But I refuse to say I lost control of my horse.”

  Sin didn’t know what to say. His body still thrummed from her kiss, his cock was rock hard and beginning to ache, and she sat on her mare looking at him so disdainfully that his ire rose in response. “I’m not going to tell them that it was my fault. We’ll just have to let them guess what occurred.”

  Anger flashed in her fine eyes and her lips tightened. But just as quickly, she shrugged. “Perhaps we should see who can reach the others first? Let that person tell the tale.”

  “Are you challenging me to a race? A real one?”

  “Yes.” She laughed then, a soft, mocking laugh that held both a tantalizing sensual promise and the memory of instant humiliation. “Afraid, Lord Fin?”

  His face burned. How dare she? “Done. We race until we reach the main trail.”

  She glanced at the path ahead. “It narrows where it turns. We can’t ride abreast after that.”

  “Then the person who reaches the turn first will be the one to reach the trail. What do you say?”

  She turned her gaze back to his. “Done.”

  The words were hardly past her lips when he whipped his horse around with a “Hie!”

  She cried out in return and he immediately heard the thunder of her mare’s hooves. Suddenly they were flying, racing without thought for safety or care, both overwhelmed by a desperate need to win.

  Sin bent low over Croesus’s head and guided the horse to the stream edge, where the firm, damp dirt would give the horse’s hooves better purchase.

  He let the big brute have his head. The horse loved to run: Sin could feel it in every stride as the corner came closer. Soon he’d turn onto the narrow path and block Rose’s—

  The mare’s head suddenly appeared in his side vision. He glanced over and saw the horse running for all it was worth. Rose’s mare was small but full of heart, and she was rapidly gaining.

  Rose was bent close, her hat long gone, her hair free of pins and flying about her, the wild blue-black curls frothing like a mermaid’s.

  His horse stumbled a bit, and he turned back to guide it around the rocks that lined the side of the river. Rose pulled closer and they were soon neck and neck.

  Rose shot him a furious glance, then bent lower to talk into her horse’s ear. To Sin’s astonishment, the little horse suddenly strained ahead and began to pull away, as if her hooves had been magically blessed.

  Sin gritted his teeth. B’God, he’d show Rose that she wasn’t the only one who could talk to a horse.

  Sin bent over Croesus’s shiny neck and said sternly, “Move yourself, man! We’re about to be made fools by a pair of rambunctious females. If you lose this, you won’t be able to lift your head in the stables without some mare snickering at you.”

  Croesus lowered his ears and strained forward, his hooves biting into the earth and churning up small hunks of mud and rock that flew wildly.

  They were so close that Sin could almost lean to the side, slip an arm about Rose’s waist, and lift her onto his own horse and hold her there while he—

  Croesus stumbled, regained his footing . . . and then, with a loud whinny, tumbled head over heels into the river with his rider.

  Icy water raced over Sin and he sputtered madly, fighting until his feet touched the river bottom. Coughing wildly, he stood, water cascading down his face. He wiped his hands over his eyes and saw Croesus standing to one side, shaking the water from his thick coat.

  Yet it wasn’t the humiliation of taking a tumble that pumped much-needed hot blood back into his brain, but the mocking laughter that filled the air.

  Eight

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  Men think they like to be challenged. The truth is, they only like to be challenged if they win.

  Growling, Sin headed for the riverbank. Croesus followed his lead, tossing his head as if trying to shake water from his ears.

  Rose was still astride as she and that hell-horse of hers laughed, bobbing its head up and down as if in glee. Sin ground his teeth as he struggled to walk onshore, his soaked clothing weighing him down, his boots full with water. Thank God they were close to the house; he’d freeze if he had to ride very far.

  He grabbed his horse’s reins and checked Croesus for injuries, glad to see that the horse was fine. Assured of this, he continued to where Rose sat on her mount.

  Her curls fell about her face; her nose and cheeks were rosy with the cold. It spurred his ire even more that she could look so damn pretty while he was soaked and furious.

  She gulped back her laughter, trying to regain her composure. “That was quite a fall you took.”

  “I would advise you not to say another word.”

  She bit her lips but a giggle slipped through. “I’m fairly sure you made two somersaults before that spectacular splash. Were you ever in a traveling circus?”

  “Not. Another. Word.”

  Rose now heard the voices of the other members of their party. “Oh dear. It looks as if they found our path and are coming to meet us.” Her gaze swept over him. “Well, Sin, whose horse do you think they’ll believe wasn’t under control now?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” He sat and tugged off his boots, emptied the water, then stood and stomped them back on. He grimaced down at the squishy wetness, then his gaze locked on the damp earth by the river.

  He frowned and stepped closer.

  Rose watched him, still smiling. “What is it?” He looked so serious that some of her humor disappeared.

  He didn’t answer, but followed some sort of trail that she couldn’t see from where she sat. He took a few steps down the river, and then a few more.

  Finally, he lifted his head. “You and that hell-horse drove us into the river.”

  Rose shoved back a thick curl that was tickling her neck. “I might have edged you toward it.” She’d thought that a rather clever ploy, until he went down. “But only close enough for the water to slow you down.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  “No, it’s not, it was strategy. You’d have done the same if you’d thought of it.”

  His jaw remained firm.

  “Come, Sinclair. I didn’t cause your horse to stumble.”

  He merely brushed his wet hair back from his face.

  She sighed. “You’re being dramatic again.”

  His mouth became a harsh line.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. “I didn’t mean to cause you or Croesus any harm. But it was a fair race. You must admit that.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Blast it, he’s going to pout. “Look, I’m sorry.” She guided her mare to Sin’s side and then leaned over and held out her hand. “Truce? If we’re fighting when the others arrive we’ll have to explain things, and I don’t think you want that, do you?”

  He scowled up at her, his hair plastered back from his face. Just as she was about to withdraw her hand, he reached out and took it, his fingers cool against hers.

  She gave him a huge grin. “A truce, then.”

  He didn’t answer, staring at her hand, his thumb pressed against her wrist where it peeked from the sleeve of her riding coat. She swallowed against the waves of heat his touch caused.

  A distant sound arose and she lifted her head. “The others are coming.”

  His gaze bored into hers. “I warned you what would happen if you laughed at my misfortune again.”

  With a quick, smooth yank, he jerked her from the horse and straight into his arms. Then he walked toward the river.

  “Sin! What are you—�
��

  He lifted her up, and with a great swing, tossed her in.

  The icy water stole her breath. She gasped once, and then she was sinking. She held her breath as she fought to rise, but her floating skirts obscured her view and for a full second, the world was black. As her skirts finally began to sink, she could see the blue sky through the water above her, but her skirts were now sinking down, down, pulling her with them.

  Strong arms encircled her and lifted her clear of the water. Sin’s deep voice murmured, “Thus am I avenged. This time.”

  “Oh! Y-y-you blackguard!” she stuttered, shivering, trying to shove her tangled wet hair out of her face. “Y-y-you th-th-threw me—”

  “Good God!” Mr. Munro’s voice shrilled. “What happened to Miss Balfour?”

  Sin grinned at her with intolerable smugness. “I believe the others have arrived. Shall I pretend to stumble and drop you again? Or will you explain to them how it was, indeed, you who lost control of your mount and landed us both in this wet place?”

  “You w-w-wouldn’t d-dare.”

  He lifted her up a few inches, his muscles bunching against her shoulder. She clawed desperately for purchase. “B-b-blast you, Sinclair, don’t you d-d-dare d-d-dunk me again!”

  “So you agree?”

  “N-no.” When his eyes narrowed, she hastily added in a low voice, her teeth chattering noisily, “B-but I w-won’t tell them it was y-y-your fault, either. We’ll j-just tell them the t-t-truth, that we were r-racing and we b-both ended up in the w-w-water.”

  Sin’s gaze narrowed. “You’re freezing. I think MacLure has a blanket rolled up behind his saddle.” Sin turned and waded back to the riverbank.

  She gave a sigh of relief. Finally, Sin was being reasonable. She glanced toward the riverbank, where their party was now assembled. MacLure, looking grim, had already dismounted and was headed their way, his boots splashing in the water.

  “Good God,” Miss Isobel said in a shocked tone. “What happened?”

  Sin answered before Rose could. “Poor Miss Balfour’s horse stumbled and she took a fall into the river.”

  She sent Sin a dagger glare. That wasn’t what they’d agreed to say at all!

  He ignored her and added, “Fortunately, I was close by and managed to rescue her from the icy waters.”

  Ignoring MacLure, who’d arrived at their side, Sin carried her onto the shore, her skirts pouring water. Once there, with a great show of false solicitation, Sin set her on her feet, water sloshing from her boots. Had her skirts not been so waterlogged, she would have happily kicked him.

  The others watched with varying degrees of sympathy, except the groom, who immediately began to help Rose wring the water from her skirts.

  “Poor Miss Balfour,” Miss Muriella said, who didn’t look the least upset. “You are wet through and through. I fear both you and Lord Sinclair will freeze before we reach the house.”

  “How horrid!” Lord Cameron climbed carefully down from his mount. “Miss Balfour, please make use of my coat.” He began to undo the many buttons on his long coat.

  “Th-th-thank y-y-you.” Rose shoved her hair to one side and wrung it out. Her clothing was so heavy that she could barely stand, parts of it dragging her down while other parts clung like a second skin. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d been more uncomfortable.

  “No, no, there’s no need for you to take Cameron’s coat.” Mr. Munro now climbed down as well. “Miss Balfour, please take my coat instead. Cameron here has a weak heart and needs his wool or he’ll catch the ague.”

  “Nonsense,” Cameron returned, looking displeased and trying to unbutton his coat more quickly and merely fumbling more. “I’m as healthy as a horse. I will be fine without a coat while we return to the house and—”

  Munro put his coat about Rose’s shoulders, and Lord Cameron uttered an impolite curse.

  Rose was instantly warmer, though she didn’t want the weight he’d just added to her shoulders. “Th-thank you.”

  Miss Isobel glared from the back of her pony and said in a petty voice, “Well, I’m certainly glad that I didn’t fall into the river. But then, I would never ride a horse in such a manner.”

  Rose could think of no reply that was polite enough to be uttered.

  Cameron, meanwhile, eyed Munro with a sullen look. “I can see that I will have to call you out before this weekend is through.”

  “Name your seconds,” Munro returned without pause. He reached out and grasped the lapels of his coat where they rested against Rose and tugged them together. “There, Miss Rose. All better now, I daresay. My, but you are a slight thing, aren’t you? I’m not surprised you fell off your horse, for a puff of wind would send you toppling and—”

  “Release her.”

  Sin’s voice held such an edge that everyone turned to stare. His gaze was locked on Mr. Munro’s hands, which were tightly clasped about the lapels of his own coat, his thumbs resting against Rose’s wet chest.

  Munro’s face turned bright red, and he let go of Rose as if he’d burned his fingers. “Sin, for the love of— Good God, I didn’t mean to—” He gulped and turned to her. “Miss Balfour, I’m most sorry for—”

  “Mr. Munro, please,” Rose said, weary and miserable. “You did me a very great favor by lending me your coat. No one thought you were being anything other than kind—did they, Lord Sinclair?”

  Sin merely glowered.

  Lord Cameron laughed uncertainly. “Munro, I’m certain you meant no harm.”

  “That’s right,” Miss Isobel spoke out, surprising everyone. “He was merely assisting Miss Balfour.”

  Mr. Munro shot her a thankful glance.

  The groom brought Rose’s mare. “Come, miss. We need to get ye home. Shall I help ye up? Those wet skirts will be difficult to manage.”

  “Yes, please,” she said gratefully. It took several moments, but with MacLure’s help, she got back on her horse, her skirts still dripping. Her mare wasn’t happy about the added weight and showed it by attempting to buck, which frightened Miss Muriella into a little scream.

  With a firm hand, Rose set her horse to rights, and then managed a smile for the small company. “I must get back to the house. Perhaps the rest of you should continue ahead to meet the duchess and carriages for the picnic?”

  MacLure spoke up. “Pardon me, miss, but the carriages willna have left the hoose yet. Her grace dinna wish fer Mr. and Mrs. Stewart to be oot in the elements in case it rained, and I heard her tell MacDougal that they’d leave a wee bit later than planned. Ye’ll ha’ plenty of time to change into dry clothin’, if ye’re worried aboot missin’ the picnic.”

  All Rose wanted was to soak in a tub of hot water until the steam and sweet-scented soap untangled her feelings. “Thank you. I believe that will be our best option.”

  Mr. Munro, who seemed suddenly to have realized how cold it was and was rubbing his arms, added his enthusiastic endorsement.

  So with Munro leading the way and the groom hovering close to Rose, they turned back down the narrow path and returned to the castle.

  Nine

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  I have concluded that neither my nephew nor Miss Balfour is able to refuse any challenge made by the other, regardless of how reckless it may be.

  I am beginning to worry that neither will survive what is either the oddest courtship known to man, or the most serious game of one-upmanship I’ve yet to witness.

  Either way, the outcome is sure to be vastly entertaining.

  From the sitting room windows, Margaret and Charlotte watched as their guests appeared on the road leading to the castle.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Good God, is that— Oh dear! Both Lord Sinclair and Miss Balfour are soaked to the bone!”

  “So I see.”

  “What has happened? The path goes near the river, but not that close.”

  Margaret pursed her lips. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was the same circu
mstances as gave them both bruises in the library.”

  “You don’t think he’s hurting her, do you?”

  “Lud, no! If I thought that, I would never allow him in my presence again. Besides, both of them seem bedraggled after their meetings. I suspect they are challenging each other and neither has the good sense to know when to back down.”

  Charlotte turned wide eyes on her friend. “That sounds dangerous.”

  “And I think it sounds very promising. Sin needs a woman who won’t back down when he grows foolish.”

  “But someone could get hurt.”

  “Nonsense. We can rely upon them to also rescue each other.”

  “I hope so.” Charlotte was silent a moment. “Who do you think won the race?”

  “Judging from their expressions, neither.”

  “Blast!” Charlotte pulled a small piece of paper from her pocket, looked at it, and sighed. “I had five pounds on Miss Balfour. Do you think they might race again? Perhaps if we ask them—”

  “Charlotte, look at them; they’re both miserable. I forbid you, or anyone else, to ask them to restage that demmed race.”

  “Very well. I suppose you’re right. Mr. Stewart was holding the wagers. I’ll explain everything and have him return the funds.” With a wistful sigh, she tucked the paper away. “Perhaps we need to find a way to get Sin and Miss Balfour to spend some time together, but not competing?”

  “I don’t care if they compete, but they must stop arguing and start talking. Oh, look! The party has reached the portico.” She and Charlotte watched as several groomsmen rushed to meet the returning guests.

  “Margaret, do you think Sin is truly interested in Miss Balfour?”

  Margaret hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m still not completely certain, but he was far too angry at not being able to find her after The Incident for there not to be something there. Not love, for they’d barely met. But whatever it was—or is—no woman has ever affected him so much.”