She caught a breath in her throat—she had never seen him like this. He was wearing a shirt open to the waist, the down of chest hair glistening with the sweat that had stained his shirt. His hair was in a queue, and his shirt tucked into a pair of filthy buckskins. His boots, covered in mud and dung, rose up to his knees, and his damp, bare forearms—forearms that seemed as thick as Grace’s legs—were wrapped securely around the four legs of a sheep he held securely across his shoulders.
He glanced up at the same moment Grace turned toward him, and a look of horror passed over his features. The sheep he held was bleating fiercely, struggling to free itself, but Mr. Adlaine held it as if it were a cat.
“Mr. Adlaine!”
“Miss Holcomb,” he responded, his voice tight. He suddenly remembered the sheep and put it down. The poor thing bolted, bleating madly, as Adlaine wiped his hands on his thighs. “Is there something amiss?” he asked. “Is your father—”
“No, he is well,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away. Despite his manner of dress, she found him to be a most stirring sight.
“Are you all right?” he asked, jolting Grace back to the present.
“Oh! Yes, thank you, I am well. Ah…” She glanced over her shoulder, to the road. “Freddie and I were driving, and something went wrong with the brake. I thought…” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I thought I would take the opportunity to tell you that some of your sheep have escaped.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I believe Mr. Terrence is rounding them up.”
“Oh. We, ah…we were just out for a drive,” she repeated, feeling very self-conscious and foolish. “Freddie thought I might enjoy a drive before I leave for London—”
Mr. Adlaine suddenly looked up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “To London?”
“For Christmas,” she said, taking a step backward. A sheep suddenly appeared from her left, darting into the space between her and Mr. Adlaine. “My, ah…my father thought I would enjoy the season more were I in London.”
Mr. Adlaine put a hand to his nape and rubbed it for a moment. “May I inquire as to when you are leaving?”
“Monday morning,” she said, taking two more steps back.This was madness, absolute madness! What was she doing here? He must think her terribly forward to come here alone—or worse,silly.
Two more sheep trotted in between them, but Mr. Adlaine did not seem to notice; he pressed his lips together and nodded, his blue eyes full of…of regret? Of disappointment? Whatever it was, it confused Grace and made her feel as if she had treaded onto ice. She took another abrupt step backward and bumped up against a sheep. Suddenly, a dozen or more sheep darted between her and Mr. Adlaine, crowding into the small, fenced space, looking for an escape as even more filed in behind them.
Startled by the sheep, Grace stepped back, but almost stepped on a sheep and stumbled. Suddenly sheep were everywhere, the stupid beasts pushing at her and into the space even though there was no place to go. Just beyond the fence, there were rolling hills and a cloudless blue sky, but in the small space where Grace stood, she could hear nothing but the angry bleating of the sheep, could smell nothing but damp wool.
“Oh God,” she gasped, and tried to turn around to find an escape, but it was difficult to turn at all in the midst of so many sheep. “Oh dearGod, aren’t therepens ?” she exclaimed as she stepped on another and stumbled again.
A pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind, righting her. “Yes,” he said calmly into her ear. “But you left the gate open.”
“Please!” she cried helplessly, falling back against Mr. Adlaine’s hard wall of a chest, “I can’t bear it—I must get out of here!”
Mr. Adlaine unexpectedly bent down and swept her up in his arms. Grace cried out with surprise, but threw her arms around his neck to keep from falling into that sea of sheep. She looked up at Mr. Adlaine, who gave her a reassuring smile as he carried her past the sheep, nudging them out of his way with a well-placed boot.
His strong arms holding her securely aloft, she could feel the curve of hard muscle in his arms and shoulders as he moved with her. She could feel the extraordinary strength in his body, but more than that, she was aware of the expression in his eyes. His gaze was full of a hunger no man had ever cast at her before, and she realized that the fluttering in her belly was just that—her hunger for him.
When they reached the fence, he carefully put her down on the other side, letting her body brush against his as he lowered her legs. Grace’s hands slid slowly from his neck and down the hard plane of his chest. She no longer heard or saw the bleating sheep, for all she could focus on was Mr. Adlaine.
His hands remained on her arms, his eyes moving over her face—her mouth, her hair, her eyes. With the back of his hand, he carefully brushed her cheek.
Grace unthinkingly lifted her hand to the place he had touched, certain there was a mark, for she could feel it burning even though his hand had drifted to her shoulder.
His gaze fell to her lips and Grace drew a steadying breath. Mr. Adlaine’s grip on her arm tightened slightly and he bent his head.
He meant to kiss her.
He meant to kiss her!
The properly trained debutante in her mind told her to step away, but her heart told her something entirely different. She was only scarcely aware that she was lifting her face to his, preparing to be kissed…but from the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Terrence and his dogs as they rounded the corner, sending a dozen sheep to the pens.
Her cowardly heart panicked. “Well,” she blurted, shifting away. She was quite flustered, uncertain of what she should do or say. So she smiled. Far too brightly. “Thank you. It would seem Mr. Terrence has found the rest of the villains.”
It felt as if moments passed before Mr. Adlaine could tear his gaze from her eyes and look in the direction she indicated. But when he saw Mr. Terrence, his hand fell away from her arm. “It would seem that he has,” he said, and reluctantly stepped back. His gaze swept over her once more, the hunger still in his eyes. “I wish you Godspeed in your journey, Miss Holcomb.” He lifted his hand as if he meant to touch her again, but it fell to the railing as Mr. Terrence passed. He waited for the man to walk farther away, his lips pressed together, as if there was something he would say. But with another glance at Mr. Terrence, he seemed to think better of it and said, “Good day, Miss Holcomb.”
“Good day, Mr. Adlaine,” she responded softly, and watched as he turned and strode across the yard and through the herd of sheep as if he were walking through tall grass, parting them easily, before turning the corner of the mill and disappearing from her view.
It felt a little as if she’d arrived too late at an important affair only to find the doors shut and locked. Feeling a little light-headed, Grace self-consciously glanced about before retreating quickly to Freddie’s carriage.
Freddie had repaired the locked brake and was ready to return to Heslington. On the way home, he reviewed all the problems with the brake, but Grace didn’t hear him because her head was swimming in confusion. In her mind’s eye, she saw an image of Mr. Adlaine, a sheep tossed across his shoulders, his masculine form astonishingly evident in the buckskins and lawn shirt. And then she saw him leaning over the fence toward her, about to kiss her. These were memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she was certain.
Six
On a wet and dreary Michaelmas afternoon, Grace was standing at the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the family salon, looking out over a rainsoaked landscape. She had been standing for a quarter of an hour, dreading her return to London and the life as an outsider in a society that would not have her.
She could not help but think of Lord Billingsley, and his public ridicule of her, or how Miss Elizabeth Robertson, whom Grace had thought was her friend, had commented in a room full of gentlemen that she could smell sheep. Grace had been mortified to the tips of her toes.
How could it possibly be any different this time? Her friend, Ava
Broderick, the Marchioness of Middleton, said it was merely that Grace had met a lot of fops and dandies thus far, and not the sort of gentlemen worthy of her consideration.
She was mulling that over when her eye caught a movement on the road.
She straightened up and peered out the thick, rain-streaked glass pane. A rider was coming toward the house, bent over his horse’s neck, his hat pulled down low over his eyes, his long brown cloak flapping behind him.
She knew instantly who it was and, startled, she abruptly turned from the window.
He was coming for her, to see her.
She glanced up: her family was seated around a roaring fire—her mother was sewing, her father with his nose in a newspaper. Freddie was writing someone, and Stephen was asleep on the settee. Grace did not want to see Mr. Adlaine with an audience, so with her heart pounding, she very calmly walked across the room.
“Gracie?” she heard her father call out as she quickly closed the door behind her.
She ran down the carpeted corridor to the grand staircase, then down to the marble foyer. As no one had knocked, there was no footman about, and she moved to the door, opening it just as Mr. Adlaine swung off his horse and wrapped the reins around a post.
He saw her in the doorway and with a look of great surprise, he jogged up the steps, stopping under the portico to remove his dripping hat.
“Mr. Adlaine,” she said, trying very hard to keep from laughing with elation.
He bowed low. “Miss Holcomb.”
“Do come in, sir,” she said, stepping back.
He swept inside, unfastened the clasp of his cloak at his throat and removed it from his shoulders, draping it over one arm.
“Allow me,” she said, and took the rain-soaked garment, laid it across one of two upholstered armchairs beside a console. “Have you come to call on my father?” she asked coyly as he removed his gloves.
He glanced at her as he tossed the gloves and hat on top of his cloak, his gaze raking over her face. “I did not. I have come to call on you, Miss Holcomb.”
Delight filled her to the point of bursting. “How good of you to call in such wretched weather,” she said, stealing a quick glimpse over her shoulder. She was in luck—no footman, no butler, not even a chambermaid in sight. “My family…my family is engaged,” she lied, “or I would invite you into the main salon. But perhaps the green drawing room…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured uncertainly to the corridor on the right that led to the green drawing room, seldom used by anyone in her family. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Is it this way?” he asked, and firmly put his hand on her elbow to steer her in that direction.
Grace smiled so widely that she thought she must be making a complete ninny of herself, not to mention her absolute recklessness in accepting a gentleman’s call alone. She hadn’t exactly thought through how she might accomplish this without her father finding out, but at present, she could think of nothing but Adlaine’s hand on her elbow.
They walked quickly across the foyer and into the corridor, to the door of the green drawing room. Mr. Adlaine reached for the handle and turned it, then pushed the door open. “After you,” he said low, and gave her a gentle push.
Once inside, she hurried across the room and pulled the heavy drapes open to let in a little gray light. She heard the door shut behind her, and she suppressed a shiver of anticipation. When she turned around, Mr. Adlaine’s gaze devoured the length of her.
“I confess you caught me quite unawares at the mill,” he said as he moved toward her. “And I further confess that I have come here with an entirely diabolical motive.”
Grace drew a steadying breath. “Should I be alarmed?”
Some emotion flicked across his features. He boldly reached up and stroked her cheek, then let his hand fall to her collarbone and the cross she wore. “Only if you are afraid of sheep.” He removed his hand, reached in his coat pocket, and withdrew a small furry thing which he held out in the palm of his hand. Grace looked down; it was a toy, a miniature sheep made of wool, with the prized black face, tiny wooden legs, and a bit of horsehair to form the tail.
“It’s a lamb!” she exclaimed with delight and took it from his hand.
“We make them at the mill for children in the parish. I thought you might like to have it near you in London as a remembrance of your friends in Leeds.”
London.Grace’s happiness was effectively doused. “How good of you. Thank you—I will treasure it,” she said hesitantly as an image of a laughing Miss Robertson flashed across her mind’s eye.
“As I will treasure the few hours I’ve had to enjoy your company.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Oh.I am flattered, but I—”
“Hush,” he said, his voice drifting over her like a silken drape as he pressed the palm of his hand against the side of her neck. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you are saving yourself for an exceptional match. Yet I cannot conceal my desire for you any longer.”
Grace caught a breath in her throat as he drew her close. He leaned forward, touched his lips to her forehead. “Not a moment longer,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to the bridge of her nose.
Grace closed her eyes and lifted her face to him, unwilling to think of the consequences, not caring for anything other than his touch. When his lips brushed hers, they singed her. But then he kissed her fully, and Grace could feel every inch of her body begin the same sort of slow burn she’d experienced that night under the arbor. It was an incredibly alluring sensation—she felt almost weightless as he slipped an arm around her back and pulled her against his body.
He’d kissed her that night in the arbor, but she did not remember it like this, not so hot, so fiery, pushing her dangerously close to the edge of reason in her father’s house. When his hand pressed against her breast and covered it, the slow burn quickly turned to liquid fire.
His hand brushed the bare flesh of her bosom; then his fingers dipped into the valley between her breasts. Something erupted inside her, and the desire that swelled so monstrously began to cloud her thoughts. She sagged against him as his hand slipped inside her bodice, to the flesh of her breast, to the tip, and a dizzying charge shocked through her.
“Grace,”he whispered against her skin, and pressed his lips to her neck, then to the hollow of her throat, and down further still, to the mound of her breast.
Grace did nothing to stop him, just closed her eyes and let her head fall back, relishing the thrill of his hands and mouth on her body, feeling the heat of it deep in her groin.
He straightened, pushed her back until she bumped up against a piece of furniture. In a cloudy daze, she felt herself falling onto the settee, her fall stopped by his strong arm. He took her head between both hands and wildly sought her mouth with his, filling her with his kiss, twisting her around so that he was on top of her on that settee.
Grace arched into him, craving more. He moved from her mouth to her bosom, and with one hand, freed her breast from the fabric and took it into his mouth.
Grace gasped wildly and pressed her breast against him as he sucked and nibbled her, driving her to madness. Her sex was wet and her body aroused like a sleeping dragon that was now breathing fire. Her hands flitted across his temples, his shoulders, his neck. She thrust her fingers in his hair, squeezed her legs around him and fought the abandon inside her, the thing that didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want him to ever stop.
Her leg rose up on one side of him, and Mr. Adlaine ravaged her breast, teething the rigid nipple while his hand slid down to her bottom and kneaded her flesh, then down her leg, to the hem of her skirt, and beneath, his hand on her calf, then higher, to the apex of her legs.
She moaned when he touched her, put her hands on his shoulder and pulled him, unthinkingly, to her body.
Mr. Adlaine looked up at her with eyes as vast as the sky. “God help me, but I cannot resist you.” He rose up and roughly caught her face between his hands, caressed her hai
r, and looked into her eyes before kissing her once more. “But I must resist you. I will not risk your dishonor.” And then he stood, took her hand and pulled her up, watched as she fit her breast back into the bodice of her gown.
“Mr. Adlaine—”
“Barrett,” he said earnestly.
“Barrett,” she whispered. “I…I don’t…” She had no idea what to say. Her body was still burning, her heart still throbbing in her chest. She lifted her gaze to his eyes and saw such desire there that she shivered.
“I must go before we are discovered,” he said, yet he made no move to walk away. He put his hand to her neck, leaned down, and nipped her bottom lip. “I must go, yet I can scarcely force myself to walk away.”
She grabbed his wrist, lifted her face to him once more. “Don’t go,” she whispered, hardly caring that it was impossible for him to stay.
But he had a wiser head, and with a long sigh, he kissed her once more. “Good-bye, Grace,” he said, and took up her hand, turned it over, and kissed the soft inside of her wrist before backing away, still watching her, his gaze raking over her as he moved to the door.
When he reached it, he opened the door slowly, glanced out in the corridor, then stepped across the threshold and walked away.
Grace put her hand to her throat, felt her pulse beating like a thousand wings in her neck. She didn’t think she could make her legs move, but then she heard the front door shut.
The spark he had ignited began to fade. She moved numbly to close the drapes, and as she glanced around the room, she put her hand to her throat, a small habit…and noticed that her necklace was gone. She searched the room but in the dim light, she could not find the cross.
The sound of voices in a distant corridor alarmed her. With the lamb tucked carefully in the folds of the skirts, she left the room without her cross, leaving it behind with the memory of a man she most certainly would have loved had her circumstance been any different.
The School for Heiresses Page 21