by Deb Marlowe
‘Yes, indeed I have. But I’m annoyed to hear that someone has beaten me to it.’ Light words, but the emotion underneath was true enough. ‘Who’s been upsetting you?’
‘No one. Everyone. Or perhaps just me.’
He sat beside her on the bench and stretched his legs out. His feet came within inches of the dancing water.
They sat in silence. The babbling stream did the talking for them. All about them birds twittered and rustled while the faint buzz of party chatter drifted towards them along the path. Stephen felt tension flow out of him. Maybe it would float downstream to burden some other poor sot.
His eyes fell closed. He always had been able to sit like this with Mae, in companionable silence, but never before had there been this slurry of excitement and anticipation thrumming low inside of him. The memory of their kiss hung bold and vivid in his mind right now, but so did the peace of the scene in front of him. He sat still, enjoying the pleasurable contrast.
Mae broke the silence at last with a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve always known just where I’m going, what I want. Now, there are too many ideas, too many voices telling me how to get there. I don’t know who to listen to.’ A heartbeat of silence passed before she said tentatively, ‘Today I listened to your friend, Matthew Grange. I think I’m glad I did.’ She paused again. ‘He seems a lovely man.’
Stephen pretended not to notice the question hidden inside that innocuous statement. Was she asking for his opinion? Because she was considering Matthew as a potential suitor? Matthew was the best man he knew—but he couldn’t force words to that effect past the lump of anger lodged in his throat. How could she kiss him so fervently last night and talk of other men today? Besides which, Matthew was not the man for Mae.
She spoke again and saved him from finishing that thought. He’d been successful so far at avoiding the question of just who might be the right man for her.
‘It’s not going to be easy, is it?’
He snorted. ‘Which part of all of this did you expect to come easily?’
‘I did have hope, if not expectations.’
He waited. She wore a bonnet to protect her face from the sun, but several curling locks had escaped. He could have sat there all day and watched the stray sunbeams search out the red-gold in her hair.
‘That was the smallest part of myself that I allowed to show back there. All I did was organise a flighty group of women, for heaven’s sake! Every time I allow a bit of the real me out and into the light, I face nothing but instant censure.’
He shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not fond of censure.’ She sighed again. ‘Perhaps I should go back to Europe.’
He straightened. ‘What’s this? Hiding in the woods? Talking of running away? Giving up? I don’t think you should go back at all, if this is what you learned over there. The Mae I knew was a fighter.’
Her gaze softened. The rest of her followed suit. Right before his eyes her posture changed, opened, yielded. She looked him over thoroughly. ‘Perhaps I only learned to choose the battles that are worth fighting for.’
‘And give over the rest?’ Stephen laughed. ‘I don’t think so. You’ve never yielded so much as an inch in all the years that I’ve known you.’ He paused for a breath. ‘I’ve always admired that about you.’
She tightened again. ‘Admired me?’ A small frown of disbelief creased her brow.
‘Yes. Admired.’ He scoffed until he saw that her surprise was genuine. ‘Why this talk of voices? You’ve only ever listened to one voice, and that’s your own. Why would you change that now?’
She turned away. ‘Because I’m afraid.’
He shrugged again. ‘Everyone’s afraid. Not everyone has the mettle to do something about it.’ He stared. ‘Mae, can it be that you don’t know how courageous we all know you to be?’ He took her soft hand. ‘Mannings and Fitzmannings alike, we know you to be incredibly brave. We took you in, welcomed you into the circle of our outlandish family and knew ourselves lucky to have you.’
Her eyes filled with tears. The sight of such a thing startled him—and touched something inside him, something elemental and entirely masculine.
‘Mae Halford,’ he said gently, ‘you are the single most courageous soul I’ve ever known. The rest of us live in hiding. We put up fronts, build walls, all the while hiding our true selves safely in the shadows. But not you. Every day you stand in the sun, flaunting everything that you are and daring the world to reject it.’ His grip tightened. ‘None of us can hold a candle to you.’
Her eyes still shone bright with unshed tears. Stephen held his breath, unsure just what he would do if she actually cried. It seemed an unnatural possibility—the sun might as well rise in the west. He feared the sight of her tears might push him into an equally unthinkable act—something incredibly unwise.
Last night’s kiss reared up to haunt him again, bathing him in a wave of heat. His nether regions, already poised in interest, began to stir. He waited.
She didn’t cry.
She took his hand. She blinked back her tears and met him eye to eye. ‘I see the real you, Stephen,’ she whispered. ‘I always have.’
God, but she had the heart of a lion. He knew that at least part of her wanted him to pull her close, to use his body to comfort her. But she didn’t take the easy way out. Instead, she spoke the truth—and said the one thing most likely to send him speeding away.
He swallowed. If she could show such courage, then surely he could match it. It took every ounce of will he possessed to stay calm and stay seated, but he did. ‘I know.’
And he had known—it was the reason he’d resisted her so hard, for so long. For that was the ridiculous conundrum that lay at the heart of him. He longed for everyone to look and no one to see. He wanted to be seen and heard, but he could never, ever let anyone truly close.
He pushed back the mental image of his forlorn mother and pulled his hand away.
‘Why were you so upset?’ she asked in a whisper. ‘That night—our last night?’
He swallowed. He wasn’t upside down now; he was twisted into a knot. Tangled parts of him wished to snatch her close, run his hands over her and kiss her until she forgot everything she thought she knew. The twisted other part of him only wanted to ignore her question, to walk away, to leave even if it hurt her. Better now than later, better to hurt than to be hurt.
Except that he couldn’t even contemplate doing such a thing. Either thing.
‘Was it because of Charlotte’s marriage?’
It did exist—buried deep, a piece of him that wanted to answer, that had always wanted to talk to Mae, let her in, let her see. It had always been smothered by fear, crushed by the need to protect, to shield. But he owed Mae. God knew why she wanted to examine this ugly piece of his past, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to give her something for her help, her support.
‘No, of course not. Charlotte and Drew were happy, and so was I.’ What he’d been was a mass of conflicted feelings.
Silent, she waited.
‘I’d just come from Fincote. From my first visit there since my mother’s death.’ He closed his eyes. ‘It was … disturbing. The estate, the few people that were left—they were in terrible shape. Destitute.’
And he had been devastated.
‘I felt horrible. I knew I had to help them. I didn’t want to ruin Charlotte’s wedding, though. I tried to laugh, to take joy in the day.’
He’d needed to hide his failure from his family.
‘I could see that you were upset. That’s why I followed you.’
And he had been conflicted all over again. Torn between relief at being seen, and a great, terrible fear that she would see too much. It had all been too much to contain. ‘I’m sorry—I should never have been so harsh with you.’
He rose to his feet and walked a few feet away to squat at the side of the stream.
She let him go. Didn’t press the issue. He appreciated her restraint.
‘What did you do to Miss Metheny?’ he asked eventually. Just normal conversation. Nothing momentous happening here. ‘She was glaring daggers at you earlier.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Not a thing. There was no need. Showing up in Newmarket with my dowry dragging behind me was enough to turn her sour.’‘I’m afraid to ask what’s happening with the ladies back there. Most of them only tolerate racing, now they appear to be diving head first into it.’
‘A social experiment, I should call it. Nothing that will interfere with our plans. In fact, I’m finding it quite useful. Lady Ryeton is planning a tour of their stables on Thursday, with a picnic to follow. Who knows what I might discover?’
He got to his feet and turned to face her. ‘Lord, I hope we’re not still looking on Thursday.’ A little spike of panic went through him. ‘We’ve got to wrap this up soon.’
‘Speaking of which, I know Ryeton has his own stables here in Newmarket, but he does use a local trainer, does he not?’
‘Yes. Felton.’ Still he kept his distance.
‘Have you an acquaintance with him?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Josette has been doing her best to gain an introduction. He would seem to be a good source of information.’
‘Felton’s more than a step above a groom. It may be difficult for her to arrange.’
A fond smile spread across her face. ‘Josette will find a way.’ As he watched, her expression changed. Fascinated, he watched the transformation. She’d just gone distant. Away. This was her thinking face. ‘As will I,’ she said quietly.
‘I am terrified on Lady Ryeton’s behalf.’
‘There’s no need to be.’ With a flick of her finger she dismissed one of the leading hostesses of the ton. ‘It will be easy enough to speak to her during the tour or even perhaps at the racing.’ Briefly distracted, she smiled. ‘Although I am looking forward to meeting her. She sounds like a schemer. There aren’t that many of us around, you know.’
‘Who then?’ Had she come up with information he didn’t know about?
‘The mistress—Miss Hague. She will present a challenge. How shall I get to her without compromising myself?’ By her tone, she was thinking again. ‘But I am working on an idea.’
Stephen’s heart stuttered. He sent up an urgent prayer that he’d heard her wrong—although he knew he had not.
‘What?’ She had noticed his silence. Up on her feet she hopped, challenge emerging back into her eyes.
‘Get it out of your head right now, Mae.’ It was an order, sure to get her back up. But this was worth a fight. ‘You will go nowhere near that woman. I will not let you ruin yourself on my behalf.’
‘On your behalf? I thought we were in this together? Are we not meant to help each other?’ She folded her arms. ‘Not that you’ve been much help, I might add.’
‘I’ll do better,’ he vowed grimly. ‘I’ll parade a line of eligible young bucks past your bedroom window, if you wish. But you will not go near Ryeton’s mistress.’
‘Ah, Stephen.’ Dangerously gentle, her voice. ‘You really are a clodpole. I thought you’d learned years ago that the best way to get me to do something is to forbid it.’
‘I’ve heard things of this woman. She’s no Miss Metheny, to be easily outwitted and outmanoeuvred. She’s got claws—and ripping your reputation to shreds would be but a moment’s amusement to a woman like that.’
Mae only looked intrigued.
‘No, Mae! You’ll get skewered. And if anyone hears even a hint of it—it will all be over. And there will go your dreams of marriage.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Have you no faith in me, Stephen? I’m disappointed.’
‘What you’ll be is tainted. Untouchable.’
She looked disgusted. ‘What I will be is married to some ore magnate or a stuffy nobleman who only wants an ornament for his arm. Dreams are fine, but they require work to turn them into reality.’ She huffed at him. ‘You are taking risks. Do you expect less of me?’
Stephen groaned. ‘I will not allow you to do something so foolish!’
‘Foolish?’ That wasn’t the part that he’d thought she would seize on. ‘Again, I am foolish?’ Scorn was writ large across her face. ‘We’ve covered this ground already, Stephen. I begin to grow bored.’
Bored? It was a childish taunt, but remarkably effective. He wanted to stomp his feet. Or grab her up and show her a better use for that mocking mouth.
She had turned away from him, her dainty nose in the air.
Look at me. He wanted to scream it. He said nothing instead.
With one last disdainful glance over her shoulder, she moved to leave.
He let her go. She picked up her pace. He held himself frozen until she reached the line of alders, then he set out after her. Chasing her again.
Damn her.
He caught her before she’d made it more than a few steps into the wood. Grabbing her by the wrist, he scooped her up. Ignoring her protests, he dragged her deeper into the shelter of the trees and pressed her up against a sturdy elm.
She let out a gasp. ‘Stephen! Let me go!’ It was an order, but her wriggling attempts to free herself acted as a spur to his fury and lust.
‘No, damn you. The first time, you manipulated me into kissing you. Last night you tempted me beyond reason.’
‘I did no such thing.’
‘You did. But this time we are going to kiss …’ He leaned into her, pressing himself slowly against her, starting at his thighs and continuing on until they were chest to chest. ‘This time we kiss at my behest.’
‘Your behest? Ha!’ She was practically spitting in anger. ‘If you—’
He stopped her with the press of his mouth on hers.
A hard shiver ran through her. And just like that, all of her rage died away. Fluid, she dissolved against him.
In response he gentled his kiss. Easing his hands from her shoulders, he ran them lightly along the length of her arms. Eager, trying not to hurry, he burrowed under her spencer to span her waist.
Through straining against his chest, her hands spread flat. Quick and nimble as the rest of her, her fingers climbed up across his collarbone and along the length of his neck. Only a moment’s hesitation, and they took the plunge into his hair.
A shiver skipped down his spine. The feel of her fingertips on his scalp triggered a hidden spring. Just like that, the knot inside of him unravelled. There could be no room for conflict when he was filled with the achingly sweet taste of her. Fear and doubt retreated, helpless against the press of her soft bosom.
Unbidden, she opened beneath him. He deepened the kiss, only to be struck by an agonising thought. Other men. He’d been the first to kiss her, but some other man had taught her this—how to drive him mad with the heat of her mouth and the sweep of her tongue.
He redoubled his efforts. He would kiss her senseless and erase any memory of another man’s touch.
She moaned her approval. He took the sound as permission to cover the more-than-satisfying mounds of her breasts with his hands. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. He paused, unsure, but she thrust herself into his hands.
He broke the kiss, but only long enough to look down and address all the buttons of her spencer. Pushing it wide, he cupped her again, thrilled to discover the sharp little peaks of her nipples through the muslin of her gown. Deftly, his fingers explored.
Her gaze fastened helplessly on his. ‘I don’t think …’
This was an affront. His brain function had ceased minutes ago. Unfair that she retained sense enough for thought. ‘Don’t think.’
Did she never stop? Her mind was a formidable opponent, but no match for his skills. He kissed her again. Down and down, through levels and layers of logic-stripping, emotion-entangling embraces.
Her décolletage loomed gratifyingly low. With one swift tug he hooked a finger in and drew it down, taking the soft linen of her chemise along with it. Dappled sunlight filtered through the can
opy of leaves overhead and across the beauty of her breasts, limned the dusky pink of her nipples.
He growled. Like an animal, low in his throat.
With no further warning he bent his head and licked. Her gasp echoed in the secluded glade. Hot ribbons of pleasure unfolded, tugging his erection higher as he circled her nipple with soft, biting kisses before drawing it in his mouth.
Lust swamped him. Good God—who knew that they would be so good together? He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to part her thighs right here against this tree and bury himself in her heat.
But beyond the soft rustlings of the wood, happy voices echoed closer. A giggle sounded dangerously close. This had to stop.
Her nipple slid from his mouth with a slick pop. He leaned his forehead against hers and tried to gather his control.
His breath came fast and heavy. ‘I’m discovering new things about you every day, Mae Halford.’ He pulled back and gazed helplessly at her half-naked, eminently beautiful form. ‘But it’s the things that I’m discovering about myself that are most disturbing.’
She opened her mouth to reply, but someone called out from just beyond their haven. Starting in alarm, she silently began to set her clothing aright.
The group of revellers passed. Stephen, his blood still boiling, fought for control.
Finally Mae was put back together. Finger to his lips, he pulled her onto the path and they headed back towards the lawns.
‘The racing starts in the morning. I’ll find you at the course.’ They had reached the mouth of the pathway. Stephen bent low over her hand and fixed her with a hard stare. ‘You will stay far away from Miss Hague.’
A tingle pricked at the back of his neck. He looked up to find Barty Halford watching them with a frown.
‘Don’t fight me on this, Mae.’
Her father still watched, but it was a rash of other, more accusatory gazes that weighed down Stephen’s soul. Many faces that could see all the way from Sussex only in his imagination, but stabbed him with sad and critical stares none the less.
He turned on his heel and strode away.