by Kim Bowman
“If you don’t mind, Rosalie, I think we should run the horses awhile before I claim my prize. Thor is impatient and he is making Sadie nervous. Considering the time of year, she may have a valid complaint if he doesn’t work off his aggression somewhere else, if you catch my meaning. Do you need help into the saddle?”
Lord Devon gripped his hands around her waist and lifted Sophia into the saddle, turning her sideways so she could hook her knee around the pommel and into the short stirrup. Blasted sidesaddle; she almost asked him to switch it for one she could ride astride when the sight of the buckle on the stirrup gave her pause. Contrary motion, the act of pulling one strap through the buckle while cinching the other.
“How did you manage the fastenings, may I ask?”
He mounted Thor with a grunt. “Did you fasten all the buttons on your clothes yourself?”
“Well, no, since my arms do not rotate backward. The upstairs maid assisted me, of course.”
“And that is what groomsmen are for — assistance. I won, fair and square.”
“Nothing fair about it! You had a crew of six—”
“Four, actually—”
“And I had to go over the grounds and up two flights of stairs and back.”
“It can hardly be my fault if you are slow and a poor gambler. I want my kiss.” Thor responded to an invisible cue and shot down the aisle and through the open doors as though fired from a cannon. Lord Devon ducked low, his unsportsmanlike whoop quickly growing fainter as he rode away.
Sadie whinnied in indignation and bolted the moment Sophia crouched low and whispered “Hiyah!” It was true — Sadie raced the wind. Her gait flowed so smoothly Sophia could barely feel any vertical force, as though the hooves never touched the ground. A grin grew wider on Sophia’s face, she squinted though a stream of wind-induced tears, and she laughed from sheer exhilaration. Ages since she’d experienced such a thrill of speed and rhythm mixed with a hint of danger. She would feel happy for a week on this moment alone, the matter with Lord Devon aside.
He gave no quarter. The guards at the gate wrenched the doors open just in time for him to fly past. Instead of turning to follow the road, he crossed the lane and jumped Thor over the fence and into a field. Sophia didn’t have to persuade or even cue Sadie — once she caught sight of Thor, she lowered her head and shot onward with an extra burst of speed.
“Crazy demon horse,” Sophia crooned to Sadie as she hunkered lower to balance the gait. At that point she was merely holding on and a little nervous, truth be told. Sidesaddle felt precarious at such a speed, and every fallen log and ditch Sadie leapt over reminded Sophia of her mother’s old refrain, “You will break your neck!” For once Sophia agreed.
Speaking of crazy, the more reckless the stunt, the more she heard Lord Devon laughing and cheering. Bedlamite. Sadie gained on them and edged left in preparation to overtake them, but Thor heard the approach and bolted again. Sophia had only seen such speed from horses at steeplechase and never such spirit. She hoped this would be a regular outing — without the betting — and that Lord Devon knew which corner of the earth the horses were taking them to. She didn’t recognize the trail. Probably because they made their own trail.
The late afternoon sun glinted ahead on a pond like light on a mirror, and finally Thor slowed. Sadie wasn’t satisfied until she drew even then inched ahead, her neck outstretched to claim an invisible finish line. Froth lathered on her shoulders and flanks. Both horses and riders breathed in heavy gusts by the time they pushed through the tree line and met the bank of the pond. Wilhelm dismounted with the vigor of a twelve-year-old boy, and Sophia tried not to groan like a stiff old crone when he lifted her down. Too long since she’d ridden, and she would pay dearly for it in the morning.
“A good soak in the bathhouse…” He paused to catch his breath. “Should take care of that.”
Sophia decided to sit where she landed and let him water the horses. Thor nudged Sadie with his head, and she blew a sharp snort that probably translated to, Sod off, you pest.
Lord Devon looped the reins of each horse around a tree branch, then joined Sophia. He pulled off his gloves and shielded his eyes from the sun. “I don’t want to geld him, but I don’t want him mounting Sadie either…” He seemed to comprehend his musings were not polite conversation.
“I suppose she will either teach Thor a lesson he won’t forget, or let him do what horses do,” Sophia finished, enjoying his grimace.
He half-smiled, looking resigned, and dropped onto the grass beside her. “And which way is it for me?”
“Teach you a lesson or let you have your wicked way with me? Both, my lord.”
He leaned back on his elbows. “Both? At once? Or in small doses?”
“I tend to act as inspiration strikes—” She bit off calling him my lord again. She could only think of him as Wilhelm now; formal address seemed impossible with him lounging in such a casual pose.
He squinted in the waning sunlight as he turned his head to smile at her, the crooked pirate grin that made heat rise in her cheeks. “And that should be my cue to catch your gaze, sober you with a meaningful expression, then lull you closer until your mouth is so near mine one of us has to move an inch to close the space.”
“For a man so eager to claim his prize, you sound grudging.”
“No. What you hear is anxiety.”
“You are anxious? Whatever for?”
He dropped his shoulders onto the ground and sighed. He lifted Sophia’s hand from her lap, peeled off her glove, and toyed with her thumbnail, tracing the edge over and over before answering, “I have never kissed a woman before.”
What on earth? Sophia recovered herself, proud her only obvious reaction was a small hum. “Not true. Your aunt counts. And I think Sadie would take exception too,” she joked, but her stomach sank. He probably meant to confess that he… oh, she couldn’t even bear to think it.
Wilhelm stared at her hand, and his voice sounded low and tedious as he confessed. “So if I have never kissed a woman, then you can guess the rest. In truth I don’t know the first thing about making love in the practical sense.”
Sophia blinked, trying to sort through his meaning.
“In theory, I know more than I wish. I would scrub it from my brain if I could.”
“Wilhelm. What are you talking about?”
“I want to kiss you, Rosalie. But I don’t know how.”
What was this? Some game? Was he mocking her? Or did he have some sinister motive she had not yet anticipated, blinded by what she perceived as his benevolence?
“No need to look so disturbed. I only want a kiss. But you will have to teach me if I am to be any good at it.” He flashed his debonair grin, the one with dimples that made her heart kick into double time.
She decided to play his bizarre game. “Well, you have it set up properly: romantic scenery, a participating party…”
“Then what should I do? Roderick would lunge at his lady and devour her like a starving man having at it with a leg of lamb. Somehow I expect that would hardly please you.”
“Roderick, your late brother? I am sorry, ah—”
“Roderick was a lecher and degenerate. He paid dearly for his sins and left me with the ball and chain we call Rougemont. No sympathy necessary.”
“A harsh judgment.”
“You might change your mind if I told you how he expired, but I don’t want to spoil the mood. I am trying to tease a kiss out of you, after all.”
“So get on with it, Wilhelm.”
“First I must tug on your hand so you lean down over me.”
Sophia rested on one elbow and let him press her hand to his chest. He rubbed his fingers over hers, slowly up and down with the rougher skin of his hand rasping hers in a pleasant reminder of masculine and feminine. She felt his pulse under her hand; his heart pounded like a drum.
“I told you, I am anxious. Come a little closer, will you?”
Sophia leaned in, and he reached aroun
d her shoulders to slide her hat off. She grew tired of propping herself up, and the heat he radiated like a furnace was too tempting; she let herself lie over his chest while he unpinned her hair. The sun dipped lower over the hills while he stroked her hair in silence. He had probably fallen into one of his trances, but this was a pleasant one. Perhaps he’d forgotten about the kiss.
Warm lips pressed to her forehead. “Tell me your name.”
“No.”
He grazed his lips down her temple. “Heartless wench. My first kiss from a woman with a false name.”
Trying to ignore the lump of dread lodged in her throat at his mention of her thin disguise, she taunted, “I think you are merely stalling, Wilhelm.”
He traced her lips with the tip of his finger. “Is it so obvious? I was hoping you would lead the way, being that I am in uncharted territory.” He stroked along her jaw and down her throat until her anxiety dissolved, and her eyes fluttered shut.
Sophia was already giddy with the pleasant buzz of mild arousal from only his touch. Most likely he was toying with her, and she played right into his hands like a fool. Suppose she trifled with him instead? “Very well. Then I will stare at your mouth and bite my lip, which will make you stare at my mouth.”
He let go of her hand, and she raised her fingers to rub the line of his jaw from the slight dimple in his chin to the little muscle in the corner that twitched. He never stayed clean-shaven for long; it made him look a bit rustic.
His breath quickened and his lips parted as he stared. “An effective manipulation. I cannot look away, and now I have this embarrassing urge to lick you.” His voice sounded low and smooth with a hint of flirtation, like chocolate liqueur.
She did it first. She slid her hand behind his neck and drew his face to hers then ghosted the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip.
He rumbled with a wolflike growl then broke into an absurd smile. “Do that again, woman, and I might drop dead.”
Sophia lowered her mouth to his and painstakingly closed her lips over his. He was slow to respond, as though he truly had no idea how to kiss. She gave him another short kiss. “Do it back, Wilhelm.”
He tried, puckering too much. Boyish. A bit limp. She took control, showing him again, rolling her lips over his, then again but harder. “Tilt your head to the left, and I’ll go the other way, so we don’t bump noses.”
Either he was a quick study or a hustler. He cupped her face and kissed her back, tenderly at first then aggressively like sparring, like the way they argued. Intoxicating how his pine-leather-mint-cognac scent became a flavor. She hummed in her throat, he hummed back, a mutual agreement of pleasure. He was thorough, patient, as though he would be content to kiss all day and do nothing else. Maybe she imagined the hungry edge to his style — the occasional nip with his teeth or stroke of his tongue.
Sophia found herself kneading his shoulders, restless in his easy embrace and frustrated by not being close enough. He responded with calm, doing nothing more than rubbing the sides of her throat with his thumbs. Oh, he had reeled her in all right. He made her feel wild and greedy, and by all accounts, he seemed leisurely. What a fool she was.
Sophia paused and raised herself on her elbows to look at him, hating that she had to catch her breath.
“Did I pass muster?” He made his wily half-smile-half-smirk, and her heart danced.
“After some practice, I suppose so.” If the fire burning me from the inside out is any indication. She rested her chin on her fist, uncaring that her elbow dug into his ribs. “Wilhelm, does this mean anything at all to you?” She stared him down, daring him to joke when she was deadly serious.
He shifted beneath her, sliding his hips against hers, and she had her answer. Oh, my. He pressed his lips into a line and raised a brow in apology.
Typical man; ask about the state of his affections, and he’ll answer with his cock.
Wilhelm raised his head, tightening the muscles in his chest. “I could get used to this, siren-woman-whose-name-is-not-Rosalie.” He caught her lips with his, provoking her in a playful rivalry that made her doubt he was an amateur. Then he rolled to the side and gently dumped her on the ground. “But I promised only to kiss you.”
He helped her stand and brushed off her skirts, sanguine as though nothing had happened. As though he’d made his point and was satisfied.
“Wilhelm, you—”
“Oh, hey — Thor, no!” He startled her with a sharp whistle.
Sophia turned to see Thor nipping at Sadie’s flanks. The mare stomped and nickered. Wilhelm ducked down to grab a pinecone and hurled it at Thor’s flank, finally distracting the stallion.
“Time to leave. I fear for your reputation as much as Sadie’s.” He winked and handed over her gloves.
By the time he’d gathered the reins and led Sadie over, Sophia had lost all courage for asking about his motives. He circled his hands around her waist, kneaded with his fingers, then ducked down for another kiss before lifting her into the saddle.
“I know I am not at liberty to do that whenever I please. That was just one more for good luck.” He scrubbed his jaw. “I would feel much better about this whole affair if you would slap me and get it over with. I know you want to.”
Yes, in fact she did. “That was not your first kiss.”
“No.”
“You pretended to be a novice so I would take the bait. Allow you liberties.” To prove your masculinity.
“Yes.”
Sophia surprised them both by drawing her hand back and smacking him hard on the cheek. Perhaps harder than she meant to, judging by the mark already blossoming on his skin.
“Much better.” Improbably, he smiled and winked again. Rascal!
He mounted Thor and waited for her to join him on the trail, ignoring her shaking her head at him. Impossible man.
The party of horses and riders seemed to have exhausted their appetite for racing, so they made their way home at an easy trot. What had seemed like minutes of racing to reach the pond turned into a half-hour journey home, and little was said. Lord Devon looked thoughtful, probably lost in a trance, and Sophia fumed at herself.
She, the master of social maneuvering, had been manipulated. And had loved every moment of it. Even now she couldn’t muster much angst toward Lord Devon. She’d experienced twenty-and-four kisses in her lifetime, stolen by gentlemen, bohemians, even royalty from all the continental nations, men who could not kiss without trying to maul her. But number twenty-five — Wilhelm — had set her aside despite his obvious arousal. Rather chivalrous, in a way.
Sophia could only save face by swearing she would never let him do it again, but that giddy feeling lingered, riding her nerves, making her hope he would, and soon.
“Never fear, you shall have your chocolate strawberries and peaches,” he said finally, with a sly smile that reminded her he was still her friend.
~~~~
Sophia browsed the back of the library, searching out a book to use for the girls’ geography lesson, when she heard the doors slam shut and Philip and Wilhelm’s raised voices. They were in the middle of a heated argument in the central seating area, and Sophia couldn’t sneak out of the library without being seen. She hoped they wouldn’t spot her there, uncomfortably eavesdropping on their private conversation.
“You sound just like my father!” Philip fumed.
“I only want you to understand the realities of what you profess to want for your life.”
“Not everyone comes away from war disenchanted and damaged, Wil. Plenty of men distinguish themselves and earn their fortunes.”
“You have your fortune and distinction, Philip. You will even have mine, if you wait a little longer for it.”
“Don’t speak of it!”
“Be reasonable, Phil. If you join the Foreign Legion so you can boast of fighting in combat, you may be sorry, or, more likely, not even live to regret it.”
“You think you are the only one in the family who has potential to be
a great soldier?”
“Philip! You demonstrate your ignorance as you speak. I would give it all back — I would walk through fire to purge the blood on my hands. War is not adventure, and killing is no sport. You know nothing about it! Do what you will, but I cannot give my blessing for it, and I want to be remembered as begging you not to throw your life away!"
Philip didn’t answer.
Lord Devon’s voice came gentler. “Take advice from a man who returned from war disenchanted and damaged, Phil. Don’t choose a course that will only bring you horror and death.”
Then she heard the door open and slam shut.
“You may come out now, Miss Rosalie.”
Sophia squeaked and lost her balance. Lord Devon stood only a few paces behind her. Unsettling and ghostly, how often he approached undetected. The frequent shock to her heart couldn’t be healthy.
She took in his rumpled hair and tempestuous expression. Expecting a reprimand or a burst of temper, she took a tentative step backward.
“Tell me I was right.” His voice sounded hoarse. Now that she noticed, he looked not only in severe dishabille, but miserable. And oddly, he was not drunk.
“You were right,” she agreed, returning his intense stare evenly so he would know she meant it. “But what happened to—”
He cut her off with a sharp nod. “I will not discuss it.”
“All right, then…” Didn’t men love to tell their battle stories?
“Just distract me, please.”
She didn’t dare gainsay him. Then she noticed he gripped the shelf white-knuckled and the other hand trembled. He didn’t smell of alcohol at all, but his eyes kept darting to the tray on the buffet holding a decanter and snifters. Ah, he was trying to quit. Why now?
Sophia didn’t force him to explain. “Where can we go?”
“The music room.” He turned and she followed in silence.
She went straight to the box by the piano and fished out a turbulent Chopin piece. She set it on the desk and prompted, “Play for me.”
It was positively maddening that his music was only more exquisite through his torment. The seven-foot-long strings washed the room with mighty sound that vibrated in her chest. For a long while she stood at his side, turning his pages, watching his head bent over the keys, his hair and face damp with sweat.