by Blue, Andie
What was he going to do with Samantha? He had to somehow fulfill his promise to help her without acting inappropriately again. Perhaps the best thing would be to tell her about Lady Morgan. She would either leave his estate or give him the cold treatment. Either of which would be better in the long run than continuing down this dangerous path.
Eventually he put down his paper. “How are you feeling this morning, Mrs. Blake?” he asked neutrally. “Have you recovered from your mishap with the windowsill?”
She looked up at him, obviously expecting him to be smirking, but instead he looked at her pleasantly as if nothing scandalous had occurred between them.
“I am feeling fabulous this morning. Never better. Thank you for asking, Lord Chattel. In fact, I do believe I will go for a ride on Midnight.”
Nico arched a brow as he put down his paper. “The stallion that killed your husband?” He frowned, feeling strangely responsible for her. “Do you think that is the wisest choice? We have a very responsive mare in the stable. Did you see the chestnut? I can have John put a sidesaddle on her.”
“No, thank you,” she said sharply, obviously insulted at the very thought. “I’m a better rider than Henry was, and it certainly wasn’t Midnight’s fault Henry got thrown. He never should have tried to take the fence in his condition. I don’t need a responsive mare or a sidesaddle. I prefer to ride the stallion astride.”
A fresh burst of arousal streaked through Nico as he thought of her riding the stallion. He should be shocked by her unladylike behavior, but instead he just found himself more intrigued and amused by her. He’d never seen a woman ride astride before.
“Well, just be careful,” he murmured, returning to his paper and trying once again to ignore her. He’d never get anything done if had that image in his head all day.
She excused herself moments later, and Nico took his coffee up to his lab. He stared down into the microscope and began to make notes. Before long, instead of working, he found himself standing at the window, staring down at the stables, waiting for her to come into view.
At last she did, her brilliant auburn hair already out of its pins and streaming behind her like a flag. She probably thought her curly auburn mane the bane of her existence, but he loved it. Her hair was as wild and free as she was. She sat the stallion beautifully, a born horsewoman, dressed once again in those boy’s trousers he so loved.
“Uggh,” he grunted to himself and started to pace in front of the windowsill. After watching her a few more minutes, he suddenly had no desire to spend the day cooped up inside, bent over his microscopes. He wanted to go out into the park, breathe in the fresh air, and enjoy the company of his captivating houseguest. Perhaps it would be a good opportunity to set things right between them.
Decision made, he briskly walked down to his room to change into riding clothes and stopped in the kitchen to have Mrs. Lotte pack a picnic lunch.
She’d had such a head start on him by the time he got on his horse that it took him a while to find her. At last he caught sight of her standing beside the small lake on the far edge of his property, letting her stallion graze quietly in the long grass beside her. He’d never seen that view look so beautiful.
“Here you are,” he said as he dismounted. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked, turning to look at him, her look concerned.
“No,” he replied, coming to stand beside her. “After you left this morning, I just started thinking that a ride sounded like a good idea and I wanted to join you.”
She gave him a shy smile, obviously happy. “Your property is beautiful,” she told him. “I’ve been enjoying myself very much.”
“Thank you,” he told her, pleased. “I like it too. Beyond the park there are crop fields. We grow wheat, potatoes and sugar beets and have quite a herd of sheep.”
“So you are a farmer like me?”
“No, I have help. But I do enjoy the challenge of managing the estate and working with my steward to make improvements in the land and crops. It is similar to science in experimentation.”
“Yes. Little things make a big difference in the success or failure of the land.” It was strange that they were speaking so politely to each other when twelve hours earlier he had been kissing her against the window. He tried to put the memory out of his head.
“You are a good rider.” Nico gazed over at her horse. The stallion was a very fine animal. She smiled, obviously pleased with his praise.
“How do you feel about a race to the tree line?” he asked, pointing across the lake. “If you win, you can have your pick of the cherry tarts. I had Mrs. Lotte pack us a lunch.”
She raised a challenging brow. “Well, I hardly think it’s a fair match up, but I’ll take you up on it.”
“I’ll give you a head start,” he told her with a grin.
“I meant for you!” Laughing, she strode over to her horse and leapt on, and he groaned inwardly at the sight of her in those trousers. He absolutely loved the way the fabric molded her lovely curves and long, slender legs. How was he expected to remain platonic while she sported those pants? He was so busy gawking that he hadn’t even mounted his chestnut yet before she spurred her stallion off at breakneck speed.
Shaking his head at himself, he quickly jumped on the chestnut and took off after her. How long had it been since he’d done anything so pointless, just for enjoyment? She made him feel like he was twenty, and in love for the very first time.
Love? The thought gave him a pause, but he quickly shook the thought away. He was not in love with the lovely young Mrs. Blake. She intrigued him, yes. And he wished he could sleep with her. But he didn’t think this small obsession he had with her was love.
As they rounded the lake and entered the clearing, he gained on her, riding dangerously fast in an insane need to beat her. Perhaps, if he did, he could capture her and …
Unfortunately, she reached the trees first, jumping off her horse and beaming up at him with sheer victory in her eyes. “I won,” she cried. “I told you I would.”
“You played on my weakness,” he murmured, sliding down off the chestnut and peering down at her with mock indignation. “You seduced me with those indecent trousers and then took off while I was distracted by thoughts of peeling them off you.”
She laughed breathlessly, that beautiful blush staining her cheeks. “I did no such thing. It’s not my fault if you let yourself be…distracted.”
He loved that she had not been offended or embarrassed by his daring words. Instead that challenge remained in her sparkling eyes, and he knew she felt the attraction between them as deeply as he did.
Wondering again how he should bring up the subject of Lady Morgan, he cleared his throat and turned to grab the picnic basket he’d secured to his saddle.
“Would you like to see your winnings?” he asked, spreading out a heavy wool blanket on the ground, and then laying out the hearty lunch Mrs. Lotte had prepared. She’d sent along some cold herbed chicken, a fresh loaf of rye bread, a various assortment of cheese and crackers, plus the famed cherry tarts.
“This looks delicious.” Samantha sat on the blanket and began loading up her plate with very unladylike portions. He loved that. She did everything with such enthusiasm, without any false modesty or worry about impropriety. And she didn’t hesitate to show her enjoyment. The soft sound of pleasure she made when she bit into the tart sent a bolt of energy through him. God, how he wanted to lick the cherry off her lips.
To distract himself, he gave into his curiosity. “Do you miss your husband very much? It’s only been, what, a year since he died?”
She gave him a hurt look and put down the tart. “I know my behavior must seem awfully cold, but I didn’t know him that well. We were only wed a few months, and during that time he was gone more often than not. To be truthful, I think he only wed me to anger his mother.”
“Why would you think that?” Nico looked at her with curiosity.
“
His mother was very controlling and had paraded him in front of the ladies of the ton, searching for the perfect bride to fit a future Earl.” She looked down, obviously feeling self-conscious about being used like a pawn in a game, but continued her story. “A farmer’s daughter who didn’t know how to hold her tea correctly and had dirt under her nails was not his mother’s idea of a good match but it stopped her matchmaking.”
Samantha fiddled with her napkin as she remembered Henry. “I tried to be a good wife to him, I truly did want to get to know him, but he had no interest in that, no interest in me, beyond the physical.”
Ah. That was what he’d been curious about, whether or not the marriage had been consummated. “Did you enjoy the physical part of your marriage?” he asked her, knowing it was none of his business, but wanting to know.
She gave him a chiding glance. “That is none of your business, Lord Chattel.”
He felt bad for making her uncomfortable. He wasn’t always the smoothest with his choice of words, preferring to be direct.
He noticed her shivering slightly. “Would you like another blanket?”
“Yes, please,” she replied.
He finished eating, wiped his mouth with the napkin and produced another blanket from the basket. “I haven’t told you that I am courting someone,” he said, anxious to get the words out and looking to see her reaction.
“Oh,” she stammered, “why would you?” She attempted to look as though he had mentioned the weather rather than something upsetting. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Lady Morgan. She is the widow of a prominent figure in the House of Lords and someone I’ve known for a long time. She is in Italy at the moment, enjoying some warmer weather.”
“Are you in love with her?” she asked quietly, refusing to meet his gaze.
“No, nor will I ever be. I’m not looking for that sort of thing.”
She looked surprised by that. “Then, what are you looking for?’
“To make a difference in society, to save lives, to be more than an aristocrat who goes to parties. I will need to marry eventually to pass on my father’s legacy, and that is why I’ve been courting Lady Morgan, to see if she is a good choice. I don’t want a wife who will make me feel guilty for being obsessive about my work.”
“Like your mother did to your father?”
“Yes, in a way, only my father worked for power and prestige, which isn’t something I care about.” His voice hardened. “I’m not like other men. I have a few friends, but mostly I like being alone. Perhaps that is how I received the reputation for eccentricity.”
“That…or, could it be the fact that you tie damsels in distress up to windowsills?”
“You little minx,” he said grabbing her hand and pulling her close to him, intending to kiss those voluptuous lips. Samantha looked up at him, with confusion in her eyes and quickly turned away to start cleaning up. He realized his mistake despite the mixed emotions within him. He had just told her he was courting another woman but all he wanted to do was ravish her on the soft ground and feel her body beneath his own.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, putting the remains of the lunch into the basket. “While I finish putting this away, do you want to see if you can find some comfrey? There’s usually a patch of it over there by that oak.”
Happy to put some distance between them, she got up and walked over to the large, beautiful oak tree.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asked a few minutes later, holding out a handful of green.
“No, that’s meadowsweet,” he told her, fastening the basket to his saddle. “Let me show you.”
They passed another very pleasant half hour as he showed her the local herbs and explained their medical usage. She was a very quick pupil and listened attentively, obviously interested.
“Is this why you looked like you had been rolling in the garden last night?”
“Yes. I often collect wild herbs, although many of them Mrs. Lotte grows for me in the garden near the house.”
Samantha explained her mother’s symptoms and asked if there were any herbs he knew of that might help.
“I’ll look into it and fix you something to take home for her,” Nico said as he placed the herbs in a bag.
It was nearly dusk by the time they rode back to the house, and he could not remember when he’d passed a more enjoyable afternoon. Once they’d settled the horses in the barn, Samantha turned to him a bit hesitantly. “Are we going to play Chattel tonight? I feel I’m learning quite a bit from my lessons.”
“Really?” he asked in surprise, raising a brow. “I haven’t frightened you away yet?”
She blushed, obviously realizing he was not talking about the game. “No. You don’t frighten me, Lord Chattel,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “You can blindfold me and tie me up all you want but it isn’t going to deter me from eventually beating you at your own game.”
The image she painted of herself tied up managed to give him an instant erection. She had no idea what she was tempting him with.
“Fine. I would love to play with you then, Samantha,” he said, using her given name and enjoying the sound of it. “I have a few things I have to take care of in the lab, but if you like, we can meet in my study in about three hours. Will that do?”
“That sounds perfect.” She smiled, obviously feeling victorious, and started toward the house once more.
“Samantha,” he called, catching her hand and pulling her back to face him. “The price for losing tonight will be very high. I want to see you naked.”
Samantha let herself into her room and then collapsed upon the huge bed, staring up at the ceiling, Lord Chattel’s words ringing in her head. I want to see you naked.
She shivered and hugged her arms across her chest, wondering if he really meant what he said or if he was just playing games with her.
What was she doing?
The passion she felt every time she looked at him was something entirely new to her, but something she desperately wanted to explore. She wanted to be naked with him. Perhaps it was wrong of her, but really, who would be hurt if she gave into it? She was a widow, after all, soon to cut her hair and pretend to be a man in a dangerous game. Her reputation may be tattered in a month’s time anyway if she was discovered to be a woman.
Remembering Lady Morgan, she wondered how this evening would affect his courtship. He certainly wouldn’t completely change his life after one sight of her naked body. If she thought that, then she would be a fool. It probably wouldn’t change their future at all. She would go on to the tournament and he would go on to wed Lady Morgan and do his medical research. Perhaps they would never see one another again. They certainly didn’t belong in the same social circle.
Pushing to her feet, she crossed to the window and toyed with the lush velvet curtains, looking out at the park below. She wished she could stop time and stay in this place forever. The fading sunlight bathed the gardens and marble statues in a warm, golden glow. Everywhere she looked she saw beauty, down to the last detail, from the neatness of the rows of trees to the sparkling water in the ponds. There were wild deer foraging in the farthest part of the park. She enjoyed looking at the scene and imagined sitting here to paint it.
Paint it? What was she thinking? She would never be here that long. She frowned as her mind turned back to Lord Chattel’s announcement that he was courting another woman. What was she like? Probably perfect in every way, saying and doing all the appropriate things, unlike her.
Samantha felt the old competitive spirit rise in her again. Since she was a young girl she had always enjoyed taking on a challenge, especially with the boys, whether it was a running race or a game of cricket. It was hard for her not to compete. And the boys seemed to like her more for it. By the time she reached maturity, she found she never really had to compete for a man’s attention. They usually swarmed around her. Those village boys, and even Henry, were quite different from Lord Chattel. She was sure that competing wit
h Lady Morgan would be competing on a whole new level — and she may not have all the right tools at her disposal.
Crossing the room, she picked up her father’s pipe and smelled the sweet, earthy aroma. She had brought it with her to remind herself of him and of home. She needed to regain her focus on her purpose here: winning the tournament and saving her farm. Regardless of her attraction to Lord Chattel, she still needed his help to win the tournament. She resolved to stop thinking of him as a man and start thinking of him as only a teacher. She needed to quit dreaming about replacing Lady Morgan and start concentrating on preparing for the challenge of her life.
A few hours later, a determined Samantha made her way downstairs to the study, with only a few butterflies in her stomach. Perhaps Lord Chattel would have forgotten about his earlier statement. Not likely. The door was shut, so she took a few moments to gather her courage before knocking.
“Come in,” he called from within.
She opened the door and his gaze took in every inch of her as she entered the room. She was dressed in a simple green gown with a modestly low bodice. She simply couldn’t dress in mourning for this occasion. She did her best to project a look of determination that said she was ready for battle.
“I see you’re anxious to take off your clothes for me,” Nico baited her.
“No, it’s not that, you devilish man.” Samantha’s eyes flashed as she spoke. “I want to win the tournament. I need to win. I've come too far to back out now and I'm not afraid of you.” Saying that almost helped her feel it. She stalked over to the table Nico had waiting for them.
“All right,” he agreed, seeming impressed with her fortitude. “But you do realize that leaves a 99 percent chance that I’ll have you naked before the night is through.”