How was she to breech the chasm between them? There was no one to blame but herself. She’d made a mull of it. If she’d only gone to Father upon first meeting his lordship in the village instead of acting impulsively and letting her emotions rule her. Her misguided quest for vengeance had led her astray.
Adaira closed her eyes against the wave of despair coursing over her. Grasping her cross necklace, she bowed her head.
Lord, what have I done?
In that moment, when she’d accosted the earl, her life had irreversibly changed. Something unidentified had been set in motion. There was no putting things aright or going back. The fear of an unknown future was suffocating in its intensity. For a moment, dizziness seized her.
Sagging against the door, she drew in great pulls of air.
I know I don’t deserve your help, Lord, but please. . . Show me your mercy. Let Lord Clarendon be forgiving.
Fionn nickered softly in welcome reeling her back to the present. Straightening, she shook off her melancholy and smiled at the horse. A lone lantern hung by a hook on a post near Vala’s stall.
Adaira took several cautious steps into the building, her boots crunching on bits of straw and oats littering the smooth stone floor. She released her breath with a slight huff. Vala stood in her stall. Her head lowered, and then slowly moved up and down. She licked her foal, no doubt.
Adaira cast a glance around. No one else was here. She’d take a peek at Vala, say hello to the foal, and return to her room straightaway. No one would be the wiser.
She stopped to greet Fionn and took a moment to rub his forehead. “You’ve become a father again, my friend.”
Pressing her head against his, she breathed in his familiar scent. With a last pat on his neck, she said, “Forgive me, but I’m anxious to see your foal. I’ll say good-bye before I go.”
He nudged her shoulder. Adaira chuckled. “I promise.”
Striding to the mare’s stall, Adaira murmured her name, while unlatching the door. “How’s my beautiful?”
The mare whinnied softly. Standing beside her was the largest foal Adaira had ever seen. He had to be over ten stones. “My goodness. No wonder you had a time of it.”
She caressed the mare’s dark bay neck. “You’ve done well, Vala. I’m so pleased with you, my bonnie lass. So, do you have a son or daughter?”
Adaira stepped around the mare and ever-so-gently touched the foal. Was the new addition a laddie or lassie? Skimming her hands over the newborn, she bent to take a peek. A colt. The sheen of his coat glistened in the muted light. Other than a white face and leg markings, he was the color of rich Turkish coffee.
“Ooh, you’re magnificent!” she breathed in awe.
“He is, indeed,” rumbled a harmonious baritone.
She whirled around. The Earl of Clarendon leaned across the stall door. His forearms rested on the top edge. He clasped a silver flask loosely in one hand. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, and he wore no waistcoat or jacket. The top of his shirt was unfastened too.
Just perfect. She wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the earl, and here he was, in her sanctuary. She ought to be afraid, after his parting words, but she sensed something altogether different.
No, she wouldn’t stare at the crisp dark hair on his forearms or peeking from the collar of his open shirt. Bugger it. She curled her hands into fists against the oddest urge to run her fingers through the curly hair on his chest.
A bolt of unease speared her, though whether from his disquieting presence or her awareness of him as an attractive man, she couldn’t be certain.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “What are you doing here, my lord?”
And more on point, why are you dressed indecently?
Father would be furious.
“What are you doing here?” Lord Clarendon raised the flask to his lips, then paused. “I distinctly heard your father tell you to stay in your chamber.”
After taking a swallow, his lips tilted into a boyish grin, and he shook his head, as if amused. “Not that I’m surprised to see you. Truth to tell, I was expecting you.”
He was? Well, that didn’t bode well. Adaira eyed him. The rakish tilt of his lips and the glint in his eyes caused another flicker in her belly.
She ran a hand along the length of the mare’s back. “I had word Vala was struggling to deliver. It’s no wonder. He’s the largest foal yet.”
Adaira glanced at the colt, then in the earl’s direction. He looked relaxed, almost boyish. Shifting her gaze to the door, rather than focusing on his lordship, she dared a couple of steps toward him. She needed to leave. Now. Not another inkling of impropriety must occur.
“I should be going—” She shouldn’t be talking to him at all.
For a moment, she thought he’d refuse to move. He slowly straightened. After tilting his head and closing his eyes, Lord Clarendon took a hefty swig from the flask.
He swallowed and gave a low satisfied sigh. How on earth could taking a drink be sensual? And why, in heaven’s name, was she aware of him in that manner? He moved away, his lips skewed up at the corners.
Thank goodness. She must return to the keep. Swinging the door open, she blurted, “Really, though, what are you doing here? I’d have thought you’d be eager to seek the comfort of a nice soft bed tonight.”
Her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, dratted thing. She was sorely beginning to regret her tendency to speak frankly. Heat suffused her face. What was she thinking, rattling on about soft beds?
With her back to him, she latched the bolt. “My lord, I’m sorry—”
He snorted loudly. “I’ll wager you are.”
She sent him a sharp look. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
Pain pinched Lord Clarendon’s face for the briefest of moments. A flash, then it was gone. He masked it so swiftly, she almost thought she’d imagined it.
“Don’t be. He’s got what he deserved for his illicit conduct.” The earl took another short swallow. Holding the shiny container before him, he shook it. “Empty, blast it.”
He sank to a stool, setting the flask on the stone floor beside a pile of soiled straw, probably from Vala’s foaling. The flask promptly fell over, clanking against the stone. Adaira slid an uneasy look to the door.
“Tell me about these.” He motioned to the stalls, his attention on the horses. “Niall said this is your doing. I’ve never seen such colossal horseflesh. They’re truly beautiful steppers.”
Pride surged through her. “Yes, they are spectacular,” she said softly.
Sweet-goers, everyone.
“How long have you been at this?” His lordship seemed genuinely interested.
Returning her attention to him, Adaira regarded him for a lengthy moment. He’d crossed his legs before him and lounged against a support beam from which his coat and waistcoat hung on a nail. He stared at her from under hooded eyes. Was he foxed? His speech wasn’t slurred, and his gaze was as intense as ever. If she didn’t count his partial state of undress, he was neatly groomed once more.
He must have become overheated. The stables were terribly warm. But that didn’t explain his presence here in the first place. Unless he was in the habit of quaffing back a dram or two while sequestered with livestock. Most peculiar.
“My lord, I’m not supposed to be in your company. Please excuse me.” Chin tucked to her chest, she made to move past him.
“Surely you can answer my questions.” He straightened and began to unroll a sleeve. “After all,” he sent her a sidelong look, a lock of sable hair falling across his forehead, “if it wasn’t for me, it’s possible both the colt and his mother would have perished.”
Adaira went rigid. She was sure from the odd quivering in her chest, her heart skipped a beat or two. She grasped her cros
s, as if it could give her some strength. She flung a look to Vala and the foal, then blinked at the earl.
“Truly?” she whispered, emotion closing her throat. “They would have died?”
He gave a curt nod before turning his attention to his other sleeve. “The foal’s head was turned aside, blocking the birth canal. I simply manipulated his muzzle into the canal, and everything proceeded as normal.”
Simply?
“But Niall—” She drew in a trembling breath, hating how her voice shook.
“Only knew how to assist in drawing a stuck foal from a mare. He’d no idea how to proceed with one that wasn’t even in the canal yet.”
For the first time, she noticed the dark stains ringing the earl’s shirt cuffs. He’d had to reach deep inside Vala. Adaira acknowledged a flicker of admiration for him. “How did you know what to do?”
He stood and yawned, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt tugged taught across his muscled chest. “I’ve had a bit of surgical and medical training. I also spend a great deal of time with animals, mainly livestock.”
He wasn’t the dunderhead she’d thought him to be. There was a considerably more to this man. He might actually be a decent person. The notion piqued her interest and flooded her with contriteness.
“I. . .” Adaira pulled her chin to her chest again. Shame kept her from meeting his gaze. “Thank you.”
She blinked against the moisture burning in her eyes. Turning her head to hide her tears, she moved past him, hurrying to Fionn’s stall. “Goodnight, my. . .”
Lord Clarendon snaked his arm around her waist. Catching her unawares, he hoisted her off her feet.
CHAPTER 13
Adaira released a yelp. Her heart surged to her throat. Though she struggled against him, his embrace remained unyielding. She fought against the band of steel squeezing the breath from her. “What are you doing? Put me down!”
With both hands, she pried at his lordship’s arm. She twisted her neck to glare at him. His gaze clashed with hers. A self-satisfied smile, no, it was more of a snarl, curled his firm mouth.
“I’m giving you the spanking you deserve.”
“Now? Are you off your head?”
Adaira clawed at him and kicked her legs furiously. One heel connected with his shin. He grunted.
“There’s no time! I have to get back to my bedchamber,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“You little hellcat. You can spare a minute, so I can teach you an overdue lesson.” In one fluid move, the earl tossed her over his shoulder.
Adaira wriggled and jerked, pounding his back with her fists. “You pigheaded oaf, put me down! A groom will hear us and tell my father.”
“Good,” his lordship said. “I’ve already had one discussion with your father regarding you. I’ve no qualms about having another. Especially since you’re not supposed to be here, and you still haven’t revealed your accomplice.”
He rendered a stinging slap to her buttocks. “That’s one.”
“Ouch. Get your hands off me. Ewan will kill you. Father will kill you. I’ll kill you!”
His hand was so large, the entire right side of her bum throbbed. She didn’t dare scream. Instead, she beat his back with all her might. He didn’t even flinch. She could feel the rough ridges from his scars through his fine linen shirt.
His lordship chuckled deep in his throat. The foxed lout was enjoying this. “I think not, vixen.”
He plopped onto the stool with such force, the air whooshed from her lungs. Her knees bounced against his chest. She reared up to keep her head from smacking the post behind the stool.
He deftly swung her from his shoulder. She caught a glimpse of his face before he turned her over his knees. He looked pleased-as-punch, the rotten bugger.
“You damnable merry-begotten cur.” She struggled against his immovable grip, condemning him to every sort of punishment in hell. Her curses would have burned the ears of the most hardened Scot. Turning her head, she caught the curious stares of the horses. Where were the blasted grooms? Surely someone had heard the commotion.
As if reading her mind, his lordship drawled, “The stable hands won’t be coming to your aid. I paid them quite handsomely to . . . er . . . be discreet.”
“I’ll tell Ewan they did nothing while you assaulted me,” she vowed, overcome with fury.
“You’re going to tell your brother you disobeyed your father and went to the stables? I’d wager he won’t object overly much to a mere spanking considering what I could have done—still can do—to you for imprisoning me.”
She shoved against Lord Clarendon’s marble hard thighs.
A chuckle rumbled through his chest again. “You’re a strong little thing.”
He pressed her shoulders into his lap with his forearm and struck her again. “Two.”
Four more sharp blows fell on her derrière. Tears flooded her eyes.
“There, that should teach you a long overdue lesson.”
The earl’s tone was gruff. Surely that wasn’t remorse in his voice?
Adaira rolled off his lap, then curled into a ball beside the soiled straw. Burying her head in her arms, she sobbed uncontrollably from humiliation and pain, because no one had come to her aid, because she couldn’t tell anyone about the spanking, because Vala and the colt might have died, and . . . because she’d imprisoned the wrong man.
She could very well hang for foolishness, if the earl was determined she get her due.
“Oh hell.” Suddenly she was swept into his lordship’s arms and cradled across his lap.
Adaira pressed into him, needing this comfort. Although, why she sought it from him was wholly baffling. Maybe her wits had flown. Trying to staunch her tears was futile. The dam had broken. She could no more contain her rasping sobs than she could harness the moon.
Except for when she’d been attacked four years ago and when Grandmother died a year later, she hadn’t been this desolate.
Lord Clarendon tucked Adaira’s head beneath his chin and cuddled her like a wee bairn. “It’s not as bad as all that. I but swatted you a half dozen times.”
“Vala—” She snuffled noisily against chest, soaking his shirt. A scrumptious trace of sandalwood lingered on the fabric. His chest hairs tickled her cheek.
“Is fine, as is her foal.” His lips moved against her hair, warming her scalp with little huffs of air as his hands rubbed the length of her spine.
“You’re not Edgar.”
He stiffened for a moment, then released a gusty sigh. “No. I told you I wasn’t.”
Utterly terrified, Adaira whispered against the curly hair poking from vee of his shirt. “I could go to prison. I. . .” she choked on a low moan of anguished regret, “could hang.”
His hands stilled. With his forefinger, he tilted her chin upward until her gaze met his. No trace of his prior fury remained. The tenderness on his gorgeous face took her aback.
“You’ll not go to prison or hang. I give you my word, vixen.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his finger. “But I will out your co-conspirator.”
His gaze sank to her lips. Dipping his head, he kissed her.
The earl’s lips were soft, warm, and tasted of whisky. He smelled heavenly. Horse, and leather, and sandalwood. Why wasn’t she afraid? She had no urge to pull away. In fact, his mouth wreaked all sorts of havoc with her thoughts and her body. Her pulse kicked to a rapid staccato. Her stomach tumbled and churned in an unfamiliar fashion.
His tongue grazed her lips as his hand brushed the side of her breast. She gasped against his mouth. The next instant, she was abruptly, and none too gently, planted on her feet.
“Fiend seize it! What am I doing kissing you?” His voice hardly above a whisper, Lord Clarendon’s tone was filled with self-loathing. H
is prior gruffness had returned in full force.
Adaira stared at him stunned, her mind a whirl of confused emotions. One moment he was swatting her bum. The next, he kissed her like a man long-starved. Then he thrust her away as if she were covered in oozing pox sores.
“You need to return to the keep.” His lordship surged to his feet. He shoved past her to snatch his waistcoat and jacket.
The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Page 12