How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1)
Page 22
Nineteen
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I’ve never heard a vicar speak like that. Had I known he could curse in such a superior fashion, I might have listened to his sermons more closely.
Dinner that night was lively. Rose was feted by the game watchers, toasted as the Queen of Pall-Mall, and given a crown made of silver paper. Lady Charlotte and the duchess were giddy and couldn’t stop talking about the game. Even Mrs. Stewart, who was usually asleep by the second course, had been so enlivened by winning a shilling from the vicar that she managed to stay awake for the entire meal.
As dinner progressed, Sin heard such exaggerations about the game that he began to wonder if he’d attended the same one. But the worst of it was the mockery he had to endure. He had thought that at least Mr. Stewart would show some restraint, but the elderly gentleman had made such comic faces while telling the story of Sin’s injured leg that Lord Cameron and Mr. Munro had been sent into gales of laughter.
Rose occasionally sent him commiserating glances, which he appreciated, but they did little for his wounded pride.
By the time the gentlemen were having port, Sin was eager to escape. He wouldn’t have a chance to speak with Rose this evening since she was the center of attention, so he sent the duchess a message that he was retiring early and left for the quiet of his bedchamber.
Once there, he tossed off his coat, waistcoat, and boots, then stood for some minutes at the window watching the moon spill over the lake. Then he’d found a book, settled in the chair by the fire, and tried to read. Instead, he promptly fell asleep.
He awoke hours later to a dark room, a streak of moonlight limning the room in silver-gray. The fire was almost out and the house was cloaked in silence. Rubbing sleep from his face, he placed his book on the table beside his chair, and then, yawning mightily, went to the window to close the curtains. The full moon washed the castle lands with a gleaming light, while an evening breeze made the grass look like a rippling silver loch.
The beauty of it held him for a long moment before he turned to retire. But just as he turned, a movement caught his eye. On the black ribbon of the drive, a horse cantered along, ridden by a slight woman in a cloak. Sin cursed under his breath. Rose.
And it wasn’t just any horse, either, but a huge, bruising monster of a mount. Rose looked like a doll perched upon its back, at risk of being thrown at any moment. No groom followed her; she was alone.
Rose cantered down the end of the drive and turned eastward on the stage road.
Cursing, Sin threw on his coat and boots and ran out to the stables. A single lantern hung at the far end of a row of stalls. “Hello?” he called.
A burly groom came around the corner and eyed Sin with distrust. “Aye, me lord?”
“I’m the Earl of Sinclair, her grace’s great-nephew. Did you saddle a horse for Miss Balfour?”
“The lass is no’ in danger,” the groom said sullenly.
“I saw that bloody horse you gave her, and I know he’s a handful.”
“He can be. But if Pronto gets resty, she’ll pull him up. I made certain she could handle tha’ horse afore I let her take him.”
“I’m sure you both think she can handle that horse, but I’d rather she didn’t discover that you were both incorrect while she’s out cantering alone in the dark.” Realizing his hands were fisted at his sides, Sin forced himself to relax them and say in a level tone, “Find me a horse that can keep up with Miss Balfour’s mount.”
“Ye might be oot there, me lord.” The man smirked. “There’s only one other horse as can keep up wit’ Pronto and tha’ is Thunder.”
“Then saddle him and be quick about it.”
The man jutted his jaw and crossed his big arms. “Thunder is his grace’s favorite horse. Only Roxburghe rides him and no other.”
“I don’t give a damn whose horse it is—just saddle it.”
“I canna’—”
Sin slammed the man up against the wall of the stable and hissed through gritted teeth, “Miss Balfour could get injured riding such a brute at night. If anything happens to her, you will bear the brunt of my anger. Do you understand?”
The groom’s eyes were wide. “Y-y-yes, me lord. But ye dinna need to worry aboot Miss Balfour. She’s a guid rider and ’tis bright as day oot there, with the moon—”
Sin let the man’s feet touch the ground. “And if a cloud obscures the moon and the horse stumbles on a rut? Or a rabbit runs across the horse’s path and sends him into a frenzy? What then?”
The man gulped. “Aye, yer lordship.”
Sin helped gather the saddle and bridle to speed the process. “Is this the first time Miss Balfour has ridden out at night?”
“She’s ridden these past few nights, as the moon’s been so bright. Afore tha’ she came at dawn. Her grace tol’ us to gi’ her whatever she wished.”
Sin leveled his gaze on the groom. “From now on, she’s not to go alone. Come morning, I’ll have my aunt inform you of that herself.”
“Aye, me lord. Should I come wit’ ye this evenin’?”
“No. I’ll fetch her.”
Sin swung up on Thunder and then he was on his way, cantering down the wide, smooth drive. There were clouds here and there, which meant it could easily go dark very quickly. Even more dangerous was if Rose’s horse became spooked, and it took very little to do so—a few leaves blowing across the road, a low-hanging branch, or even the whisper of the clothes of the person riding the animal.
Sin tried to banish the chilling thoughts as he reached the end of the drive and turned down the road Rose had taken. Then, eyes straight ahead, he began his search.
• • •
Rose lifted her face to the moon and breathed in the cool, moist forest air. For the last quarter of an hour, she’d let Pronto have his head.
He loved the night as she did, the coolness and silence. Every once in a while he let out a whicker and tossed his head, which made her grin. She relaxed in the saddle and looked at the silver spill of moon that lit the road before them. Staying on the main road wasn’t as freeing as a ride on the familiar paths at Caith Manor, where she knew where every loose tree root or slick rock might be hiding, but for tonight it was enough.
Her nightly rides calmed her tumultuous thoughts better than anything else, and lately she’d needed that peace of mind.
Most of her unease had to do with a certain tall earl with blond hair and light brown eyes who seemed determined to win their every encounter. Though he might not know it, each time that they spoke, every smile he glinted at her, was winning him yet another piece of her foolish heart.
There wasn’t a lot left that was just her own. And yet, she couldn’t stay away from him. She’d tried, but each time had left her with a painfully hollow ache and she never wanted to feel that way again. But she suspected that was exactly how she’d feel once she returned to Caith Manor in only a few days, leaving the magic of Floors Castle and Sin’s smile forever.
Suddenly a noise intruded on her thoughts. Were those hoofbeats?
She glanced over her shoulder and saw another horse on the road behind her, coming fast. Who else would be out at this time of the night? It looked like . . . Sin!
She grinned and slowed Pronto to a walk. Perhaps she could entice Sin into a little race. The road ahead was straight, wide, and even, and there were no trees to block the moonlight. It ended at a high wooden gate set in a stone wall that marked the Roxburghe lands.
She listened as Sin approached and then, just as he came onto the same stretch of road, she gathered Pronto and sent him into a gallop. The horse responded immediately.
She heard Sin utter a curse, and then the thunder of hooves as he came in hot pursuit.
Rose laughed as she bent low to Pronto’s neck, excitement thrumming through her veins as an exultant flood of happiness lifted her. Pronto could feel it, too. He lowered his ears and put his heart into the race as they thundered down the road.
Pronto whinnied his joy and Rose laughed. She felt as if she could hold her arms out to her sides, and she and Pronto would lift into the air and sail away on the breeze like dandelion fluff. She chuckled and murmured encouragement, her knees urging the horse onward as she heard Sin right behind her. She knew from the sound of the hooves that if she looked over her shoulder, she’d see him coming abreast.
She couldn’t let him beat her. The gate was getting closer and oh, how she dearly wished to win. She’d have traded her best gown for a few lengths to leave him behind in the dust, where he belonged.
Sin’s horse inched forward and she could see him just over her shoulder now.
He was bent low over his horse’s neck. He wasn’t wearing his riding clothes, which was odd, and his face was set with concentration, his hands sure on the reins.
He saw her head was turned his way and he yelled something, but it was lost over the thunder of their horses.
The urgency in his tone set her heart pounding even faster and she redoubled her efforts, promising Pronto treats untold if he got them to that wall first. They’d jumped it many times before, but never had she wished to win so badly.
Sin, meanwhile, thought a madness had possessed Rose. But she was a marvelous horsewoman and he knew that she wouldn’t take a wall that was too high or deep for their mounts. He’d have to trust her—and he realized, to his surprise, that he did. He would follow her wherever she went.
And then they were at the wall, Rose and her horse slightly ahead. He had a perfect view as Pronto bunched and then lifted, sailing over the gate with an inch to spare. Sin followed, his horse clearing the gate top.
Rose was waiting for him on the other side, her eyes shining, and laughter bubbling in her voice. “I’ve missed that so much!”
“What? Riding madcap down a deserted road?”
“It’s an excellent road and oh, what a glorious moon!” She waved her arm in an arc as if trying to engulf the moonshine.
“You shouldn’t be out at night. There could be strangers, or the horse could spook or draw up lame . . . I nearly had an apoplexy when I looked out my window and saw you riding off to God knows where.”
“I’ve ridden this road every day for two weeks. I might risk my neck to ride wildly, but never a horse’s.” She grinned. “You sound like Mr. Stewart, who thinks the new style of phaeton is a dangerous mode of travel. Next you’ll be warning me to wear wool in the winter, and to be sure I button my pelisse in the rain.”
Sin glowered. “I’m not acting like an old man.” He’d been worried sick, thinking her injured or dead, while she’d been acting as pragmatically as she always did.
“No? Then what are you acting like?”
“Like someone who—” Cares. The word stuck in his throat. Bloody hell, where did that come from? But of course he cared about Rose; there was nothing surprising in that. She was sunshine and warm days. She was unconventional and impulsive and a hundred other things, all of them good.
He no longer thought of her as the woman who’d humiliated him, a selfish witch who’d embarrassed him for spite. If there was one thing he now knew about Rose, it was that she didn’t have an ounce of spite in her body. If anyone could be accused of that, it was him.
Rose twinkled up at him, her smile wide and unguarded. “So, Sin, I win again.”
She had. And he found that he didn’t care. He liked seeing the sparkle of triumph in her eyes, and he realized that he’d give up a thousand wins just to see her joyous for one moment. “Yes, you win. That’s two today.”
“And you owe me for both.” To his surprise, she sent him a hotly passionate look that made his heart lurch. “I’m glad you came out. Our time at Floors is almost over, but at least we’ll have the memory of our moonlight ride.”
Two and a half weeks had never passed so quickly. Sin managed a faint smile. “Of course.”
She waited and he knew she wished him to say something more, but he couldn’t. Only a few more days. The words rang with ominous darkness. Once the ball was over everyone would leave, one carriage at a time, until the castle was quiet and—without Rose—achingly empty.
A pained smile flickered on Rose’s face. “Shall we ride?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned her horse.
They rode back to Floors in silence, but for the sounds of the horse’s hooves. The beauty of the night, the freshness of the air, the scent of heather that rose as they passed the fields all paled before the fact that they were almost out of time. By the time they arrived at the castle, an unfamiliar gloom had settled over Sin.
The groom met them at the front of the castle and led the horses away.
And they were alone. Sin turned to Rose, bereft of words. “I . . . I will be sorry to see you leave—”
She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him, pressing her body to his so urgently that he staggered a bit. But he recovered quickly, his body answering hers immediately, as it always did. He wanted her so badly that in his muddled mind, wanting her and breathing no longer differed.
He clutched her to him, lifting her to plunder her mouth with kiss after kiss after heated kiss. He couldn’t taste her enough, touch her enough . . . the more he had, the more he yearned for, until he ached with it.
He soaked in the feel of her firm, strong body under his hands, of the taste of her lips on his, of the scent of her hair—
She broke the kiss, her forehead coming to rest against his shoulder as she panted. He slowly slid her down so that her feet were once again upon the drive.
She held him tightly still, her body trembling. He tried to calm his own breath, but it was impossible. He ached for her, burned for her, wanted her so badly that he couldn’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t give up for just one hour—one minute—of her under him.
“Come.” Her voice was husky and aching. She turned away, her hand slipping into his. She led him inside, through the dark foyer to the stairs, and then up into the dark upper hall.
Sin followed, feeling as if his entire life had just turned into a dream. She took him down the hallway and past his bedchamber, and on to hers. At the doorway, she looked up at him. Her eyes seemed huge, her lips swollen and trembling. “Sin, I want more than a moonlight ride to remember these few weeks by.” She stood on tiptoe to cup his face. “Just one more memory. That’s all I ask.”
The words burned into his mind.
With a lingering glance over her shoulder, she went into her bedchamber, leaving the door open behind her.
Twenty
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Love cannot be contained.
Rose stood beside the bed, holding her breath. Would he follow her? She prayed that he would. Life had been unfair to them before. They’d met when she’d been too young and he too full of himself for their passion to be fulfilled.
Now they’d met again and all that they thought they’d known about each other had been torn away, leaving a roaring passion that was ready to consume them. And she was ready to sate this desire that left her weak every time his gaze met hers.
She heard the door close and the scrape of a key in the lock.
Her body trembled, her breasts aching, her thighs damp from the boldness of her own actions. He came closer and captured her shoulders from behind. Without a word, he bent and pressed a hot kiss to her neck.
She moaned and leaned back against him, feeling the hardness of his body, the strength of his arms. His hands slid down to her stomach to pull her close and she could feel his cock pressing against her back. Rose gasped as he slid his hands up and caressed her breasts, his thumbs pressing on her nipples. She shivered and pressed against him, giving him access to whatever part of her he wished to touch.
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Sin groaned as she rubbed against his groin; she was so responsive. Her small breasts filled his hands sweetly and he burned to see her nipples harden for him so quickly. Would she moan when he took them in his mouth and—
He suddenly stopped, then set her away from him.
She faced him, surprise and disappointment on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“If I stay here, I’m going to do much more than caress you.”
Her brow lifted and she smiled. “Who’s afraid now?”
The soft words sent Sin’s senses into a spiral of desire.
Rose’s gaze locked with his, their breaths ragged and quick. She reached up and undid her scarf, and then, with fingers that were already trembling, she unbuttoned the short jacket of her riding habit and tugged it off. Underneath, she wore a white cambric shirt that was ruffled at the neck and wrists. Her gaze still on his, she untied the shirt, tugged it free and pulled it over her head, and tossed it on top of her jacket.
She was left with her full skirts tied at her waist, and only a lace chemise covering her breasts. He could see her dusky-colored areolas through the lace, her nipples hard and beckoning.
He instantly wanted his mouth over those delicious mounds of temptation, and he growled with sensual hunger.
Rose’s entire body thrummed with his reaction. “It’s your turn, I believe.” Was that her voice, so husky and sensual?
He didn’t hesitate, swiftly removing his coat and yanking his shirt over his head, revealing a broad chest covered with tantalizing golden hair that narrowed and then trailed down his muscled stomach to disappear at his waistband. As her gaze followed the path, she saw that his manhood was already straining against his breeches. Instantly she felt an answering heat.
She met his gaze and reached for the ties that held her skirt, but his warm hands brushed hers away. In an amazingly short time, her skirt dropped to the floor, her petticoats with it. Cool air brushed over her. All she wore now was her chemise, stockings, and riding boots.