“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss breakfast again,” Emily whispered.
Sunlight streamed through the small window she’d uncovered on the far side of the bed. Its fingers didn’t quite stretch across the bedspread and into my eyes, but it was bright all the same. I shrugged as I pulled myself from the bed. My skin felt as though a thousand ants crawled beneath it, all urging me to go down to the stables. One last ride. No one would know.
I shook my head. “I can’t go down.”
Emily kneeled in front of me. A frown knit her face. She’d hidden her blond hair behind a scarf this morning while she did her chores. Without it, I supposed we didn’t look much alike. The bow of her lips was too pronounced, the lower lip too plump. Her cheeks were rounder, her blue eyes bigger. She had darker eyebrows than I did.
But we were close enough from afar. In fact, she’d been mistaken for me more than once, considering that she altered my cast-offs to fit her.
I narrowed my eyes.
She sensed the deviousness in them, for she recoiled. “No, miss. Whatever you’re thinking, I won’t have any part in it.”
Standing, I reached for the ties on my nightdress. “I want to go for a ride.”
She hedged. “That doesn’t seem like a terrible idea. But you don’t have any riding dresses.”
“That’s why I must do it without anyone realizing I’m gone.”
The ties pulled free and I shucked the nightdress, letting it fall to the floor. Emily drew me behind the dressing screen. She dipped a rag in water and stepped forward to give me a cursory bath. I waved her away. “No time. I haven’t gotten dirty since last night. Come dress me, quickly.”
Emily had already chosen the walking dress I would wear today, a sunny yellow frock. It wasn’t the best thing for riding, with its long, flimsy skirt, but none of my dresses were. After stepping into it, I lifted my hair from my back for Emily to fasten the ties.
“You’ll go down into the gardens this morning,” I told her. I didn’t bother asking; she would only argue.
In fact, she argued anyway. “I have my chores—”
“Forget them,” I told her. “There isn’t much for you to do while you’re here, anyway.”
Her voice turned prim. “I have to mend your dress from the other night.”
“That is beyond repair, as you well know. We’ll throw it out.”
“I’ll cut it into pieces for rags or handkerchiefs. It’s too beautiful to waste.”
I shrugged. She towed me to the vanity stool and bade me to sit while she fashioned my hair. Fortunately, she was quick. My hair didn’t have the natural, riotous curl to it that Violet’s or Francine’s did. It was much easier to style, if a bit flat.
“Do what you will with the dress,” I told her, “but not today. This morning, I need you to pretend to be me as I walk through the garden. In case anyone should come looking.”
“And if I refuse?”
I turned in my seat, meeting her gaze. “Then I’ll spend the entire day feeling as if my skin will crawl off if I don’t mount a horse. You know I won’t ride if I have an audience.”
She sighed. “You have until midday,” she told me. “And if it starts to rain, I’m coming inside and giving up the illusion.”
“Rain?” I laughed, indicating the sun streaming in through the window. “It’s sunny this morning.”
She shook her head, her mouth narrowing to a thin line. “You haven’t seen the sky, miss.”
Minutes later, when I exited the manor via the library, I sucked in a breath. The western horizon broiled with thick, dark clouds. They loomed in the distance. I had at least until midday before the rain fell. It might even hold off until this evening, if I was lucky.
Either way, I didn’t have time to linger in the doorway to the library. I scampered outside, skirting the edges of the manor as I snuck to the stables. When I got there, I faltered. The hostlers stared at me, waiting for my direction. What should I tell them? If I said I felt like going for a ride, they would saddle a dainty little mare with a sidesaddle. I almost pulled a face at the thought. Three years of pretending to be a demure maiden schooled the expression away.
I lied. “Lord Hartfell says he wants to take a ride this morning. Would you saddle his gelding, please?”
I wondered if they recognized me as a gently-born young lady. Like Emily, most of the lady’s maids wore the cast-offs of their mistresses.
The nearest man raised his bushy eyebrows. “Why doesn’t he come to tell us himself?”
“He’s busy,” I snapped, donning my most imperious expression. “He asked me to come on his behalf.”
The worker glowered, but he scuttled away to do my bidding. Once the reins were in my hand, my plan fizzled into nothing.
“Thank you,” I told the hostler nonetheless. I started to guide the horse from the stables.
“Miss, what are you doing?”
“I’m bringing the horse to him.”
Because really, what else could I say? The hostlers stared at me with varying expressions of incredulity.
The one who had saddled the beast stepped forward. “I can do that for you, miss.”
“No,” I snatched the reins closer to my chest. “I will do it.”
An expression of understanding dawned on his face. He stepped back, hands raised. “Very well, Miss. You go impress your lord.”
He wasn’t my lord. Why did everyone insist on referring to him in that way? I bit back a retort. Better the hostlers thought I fancied Warren.
I led the well-behaved gelding out of the stables. The hostlers’ hot stares bored into my back. I plodded toward the front of the manor. Return to your chores. Why did they insist on watching me? I couldn’t mount with so many witnesses.
I couldn’t walk the entire length of the drive while towing the horse behind me, either. Servants talked, and with odd behavior like that, my name would buzz on everyone’s lips. Stroking the horse’s smooth-as-velvet nose, I led him to the front of the manor. The trees at the far side provided a big enough gap to fit a woman and a horse. I guided the gelding into the hollow. The wash of shadow cooled my skin, no doubt flushed from the embarrassment of the exchange. Now that I was alone, I trembled with the desire to mount the steed and fly over the field.
I gave the gelding several reassuring strokes and words of praise as I looped the reins over his big neck. I held them near the cantle of the saddle as I hiked my skirts to my hips with one hand, placed my foot squarely in the stirrup, and mounted the horse. I groped with my other foot until I found the far stirrup, set for Warren’s superior height. Using the saddle for balance, I leaned down and shortened the stirrups one at a time. When I slipped my toes inside, I leaned my weight against them, pushing my heels down. There. Better.
Now, to escape without arousing suspicion.
I’ll cut across the garden. Most guests still lay abed. Others feasted in the breakfast room. I had privacy, for the moment. The widest paths fit the horse’s rump, but the hedge only rose to my thighs. Not high enough to conceal me if anyone peeked.
I nudged the horse into a walk, then a trot. As we meandered down the widest path of the garden, I leaned down over his neck. The path narrowed, coming to an end. Finally. The horse balked, but I propelled him forward with kind murmured words and strokes to his neck. The moment we broke into the open air on the opposite side, the open field beckoned. The emerald panorama, lush from fresh rain, remained unbroken save for a copse of trees to one side. Wheeling the gelding toward that auspicious grove of trees, I kicked him into a gallop.
We flew across the fields. It was the most glorious thing that had happened to me since arriving at this party. Only me, the open, sunny air, and the horse.
By the time midday arrived, the sky had frosted over with sinister looking clouds, and I was hopelessly lost. If the gelding and I didn’t find our way soon, we would be caught in the storm. I dismounted as a few scattered drips flecked against my cheek. They were cold, icy, and promised
more unpleasantness to come.
A large oak tree spread its branches over a hollow. I led the horse among its scant shelter, praying it would be enough to shield us from the bulk of the rain. It continued to fall in scattered drops, a few at a time, but held off most of the storm.
Too much time passed, the clouds writhing with violence, before Warren found me.
Hope beat at my breast as he rode up. He moved easily with his horse, a taller mount than the gelding I’d stolen from him. This new gelding, black with white socks and a diamond on his forehead, stood over fifteen hands high. Imagine riding that behemoth bareback. I swallowed a grin.
He dismounted, leading the horse into the hollow alongside mine. He lifted his eyebrows as he drew near. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I scowled. “I got lost, all right?” He didn’t have to be a heel about it. “You didn’t have to come looking for me. I would have found my way back eventually.”
“Who says I was looking for you? Lady Dunlop mentioned that the gentlemen are hunting out this way. I thought I’d join them.”
He had followed me. “It’s too late in the season to hunt,” I told him. I stabbed my finger toward his chest but snatched it back before it made contact.
Both his eyebrows rose. “And you would know that, how?”
My cheeks colored. I refused to admit that I’d taken part in a hunt or two with Papa, before my come out. Better he didn’t know. He’d probably blab to the entire party. Before I knew it, all of London would name me a savage, and I’d never find a husband.
Clearing my throat, I changed the subject. “How did you know I was out?”
His eyes glimmered with humor. “Funny story, actually. Here I was, about to take a stroll in the gardens with the woman I thought was the gentle Miss Wellesley, only to find it isn’t her at all.”
“Emily spilled my secret, didn’t she?”
“What secret? She led me on a merry chase through the gardens, that’s for sure.”
Catching my hand, he tried to lead me to his horse. His grip was firm and warm. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d gotten until the heat of his skin burned my bare fingers. He hadn’t worn gloves to fetch me.
“Come on,” he said. “It’ll rain before too long, if we’re not careful. Let’s return to the manor.”
I wrested myself free. “I have my own horse.” I nodded my chin to indicate the patient, loyal gelding. He chomped at the grasses beneath the tree. He didn’t care a whit about the storm looming over us.
Warren raised his eyebrows. “You also don’t have a side saddle, or proper riding skirts.”
“Oh? And how would you know of such things?”
“My mother rides from time to time, I’ll have you know.”
His dear, old, sweet mother. How had she raised such a devil? I backed away from him.
“I can ride. I will ride. That was the purpose of this outing. Point me toward the manor.”
“I would,” Warren said, drawing out his words, “but I have the funniest story about what happened to me once I approached the hostlers for my horse. If I don’t share it with you on the ride back, I might have to share it with someone at the party.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are you threatening me?”
“Certainly. Now will you do as you’re told for once, and let me see you safely back? I don’t want you to catch ill.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not some bird-brained young woman. I can think—and ride—for myself. You aren’t my husband. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Warren loosed a low chuckle. “My dear, I doubt the man who marries you will be able to command you, either. I have no doubt you’ll make some poor sap do your bidding for the rest of your natural born life.”
He sounded rather cheery over the prospect. Probably because he didn’t consider himself in danger of becoming that man.
“I can be genteel.”
He snorted. “You do a good job at pretending, but that’s only for the ton’s sake, isn’t it? No, alone, I expect you’d be quite the wild woman.”
He stepped closer to me. His eyes glinted with humor and something else, something darker and more urgent. I swallowed but didn’t move away. The heat of him bracketed my front.
In a low voice, he said, “For the time being, I submit myself to your whims as long as they lead us to the door of the manor before the storm hits.”
I eyed the dull, gray sky peeking through the oak’s branches. The darkest of clouds lingered in the west, not quite upon us. The sprinkle of rain slowly halted for the moment. But the weather was eerily calm, devoid of even a breeze.
“Very well,” I muttered. “I’ll happily return to the manor. Atop my own horse.”
Warren groaned. He lifted his face to the sky a moment before a devious grin pulled at his lips. “Fine,” he said, “but there will be a toll.”
I recoiled. “A toll?”
“Indeed. If you want me to guide you to the manor while you’re on your own horse, you’ll have to give me a kiss.”
He leaned forward, lips pursed. I planted both my palms against his chest and shoved him away. He was as moveable as a mountain.
He slipped his hands over mine, anchoring me in place.
I’d left my hands bare, the better to grip the reins this morning, as I had no riding gloves, only slippery silk ballroom gloves. The heat of his skin bracketed mine, sending a tingle up my arms and into my chest. I couldn’t pull away.
“A kiss,” he said, “or you ride on the back of my horse.”
I leaned forward, close enough to snap my next words against his mouth. “You’re the last man I would ever choose to kiss.”
I whirled away. His hands had grown slack enough for me to escape. I stomped up to his horse, gentling my steps as I neared the mount’s flank.
Warren chuckled. From the wave of heat behind me, he followed closely. He leaned his head down to whisper in my ear. “That would be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t already kissed me.”
He pulled away. In a swift movement, he lifted me, sidesaddle, atop his horse’s rump. The beast was patient; it didn’t do more than flick an ear. I gripped the back of the saddle for balance.
Warren walked away to fetch the gelding I’d ridden. He led the beast to the back of his and tied the reins to the saddle, behind me. The reins were long enough for the beast to walk comfortably, as long as we didn’t go as fast as a trot. I’d galloped most of the way here. It would be a long trek back to the manor, I suspected.
Perhaps Warren had devised it that way.
I glared at him as he smoothly mounted the horse, settling into the saddle ahead of me. He nudged the beast into a walk.
At the horse’s lurching gait, I steadied myself by clutching Warren’s hips. Warren’s heat burned me even through his clothes.
“If you think denying me the kiss will punish me,” he said over his shoulder, “it won’t. I have every contour of your lips engraved in my memory. I can relive it any time I want just by closing my eyes.”
The mention of our shared passion reignited the memory of it. My lips tingled. I shifted in place, uncomfortable. From the firm set of his shoulders beneath his sapphire jacket, Warren wasn’t nearly as afflicted by the memory as I was. His hair brushed his collar, begging for my touch. I clasped my hands tighter around his jacket to keep them in place.
I’ll feel better when we return to London, and I never have to see him again. We hadn’t crossed paths before now, after all.
Even so, I doubted those moments could be forgotten so easily. Not without someone else’s kiss to erase them. With other men, I hadn’t shared a fraction of the passion I found myself embroiled in with Warren. For some reason, he had a way of making me forget myself. I wouldn’t find the sensation nearly so unsettling if I shared it with another man. A suitable man. A man I pictured myself marrying, one who didn’t purposefully try to get under my skin.
He said, “Has anyone ever complimented those lovely long legs of
yours? You have legs made to wrap around a man’s waist.”
His words conjured the image—and an echo of the passion—of our encounter by the stables. My cheeks flushed. My breasts grew heavy. I struggled not to squirm in place.
To distract him, I quipped, “How are you able to ride such a lofty beast? Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall off?”
His muscles bunched beneath my palms. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t tease me, either. I smiled with triumph at our stalemate. We rode the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter Fourteen
I dismounted the second we pulled into the courtyard, slipping off the rump of Warren’s horse and leaving the pair for him to hand off to the stable hands. I refused to subject myself to knowing looks born from the Lord-only-knew-what rumor.
Instead, I slipped inside the manor, patting my hair down to ensure it hadn’t escaped the tight braid. Although I didn’t have a mirror, the strands seemed to be in place. My clothes were none the worse for wear.
As I stepped past the sitting room, hoping to find and snatch Emily to make doubly sure my attire was pristine, Lady Dunlop called from within.
“Miss Wellesley, come in here a moment. Is Lord Hartfell with you?”
Color stained my cheeks as I stepped into the room to find every single guest gathered. They must be awaiting the announcement of one of Lady Dunlop’s games. I couldn’t let them think I’d been alone with Warren, even for a moment.
I lifted my chin and informed her. “He is not.”
She frowned. “That’s a shame. I sent him out after you. Should I send someone else out to find him?”
The front door slammed shut, hailing the entrance of a new arrival. Warren called, “No need, Lady Dunlop. I’m here.”
He stamped his big boots as he entered the sitting room. The color drained from his cheeks as he noticed everyone gathered.
“What is this about?” he asked, wary.
Lady Dunlop clasped her hands over her bosom. “I’m so happy you asked. How unfortunate that no one unearthed any treasures yesterday at the ruins. We’ll rectify that today, shall we? Today’s event is a scavenger hunt.”
How to Play the Game of Love (Ladies of Passion) Page 15