To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Mr. Crosby shook his head. “What do you gain from this?”

  “I just told you. It’s the chance to prove myself. To show not all ladies are silly creatures who are good for nothing but sitting about and stitching and gossip.”

  Or so she told herself. Whenever she tried to scratch this particular wound, though, she always found it went much deeper. Part of it was pure mule-headedness and the lure of the forbidden. If proper ladies weren’t permitted to ride astride, she’d dashed well do it. Childish of her, perhaps, but for that very reason she wouldn’t confess that aspect to Mr. Crosby.

  More than that, she needed the sun and wind on her face, the freedom of the wide fields, the drumming of hooves, and the pounding of her heart. Those things fed some insistent desire deep within.

  Escape.

  The truth of that word echoed through the corners of her mind. Yes, her role in society felt like a prison more than she cared to admit. For someone as supposedly lofty as she, life offered Caro surprisingly few choices. Marriage, but only to the proper man, and then he’d dictate her life to her. God forbid she turn into someone like her mother, whose life had wasted away bearing child after child that didn’t survive, while missing the formative years of those who had lived.

  She met Mr. Crosby’s stark blue gaze. “Do you know how it feels to be trapped in your life?”

  He replied with a slow nod. “Aye, I do.”

  “And you’d do anything to escape?”

  “I did escape.”

  “That’s what I want. A means to unlock the cage.”

  But riding with the hunt was only a temporary means, and Mr. Crosby had to recognize that fact as well as she.

  Chapter 21

  Though Mr. Crosby’s disgusting concoction had managed to make her feel more human, all Caro wanted was her own familiar bed and a few hours tucked under the blankets with a soft feather pillow to soothe her head. The very last thing she wished to see was Snowley pacing the corridor near the manor’s back entrance.

  The moment she crossed the threshold, he came to a halt and placed his hands on his hips, effectively blocking the passage. “Where have you been?” He might as well have tacked a young lady onto his question. “It’s nearly morning.”

  “I had to spend the night with Boudicca, didn’t I? To ensure no one made off with her.”

  “Indeed?” He raised a single, skeptical brow. “You hardly seemed in a clear-headed state of mind. You could barely stand, let alone walk.”

  “Whose fault is that?” she shot back.

  “Surely you’re not going to blame your excess on me.”

  “You did nothing to stop it. You simply stood by when Pendleton would have cheated me out of my horse.”

  “I could not have known what he was planning.”

  “Yet you did nothing to protect my honor. Does that sort of behavior befit a duke? Why didn’t you take control of the situation?”

  “Now, see here, you cannot lay the blame on me. Did I force those drinks into your hand? Did I oblige you to down them? Good Lord, if you only behaved like a properly bred young lady, you wouldn’t have even been present yesterday evening.” Snowley was completely in the right on that point.

  It only fueled her anger. Damnable propriety. And why should more be required of women than men? “Why should tradition dictate that ladies and gentlemen separate after a meal? And since I was present, shouldn’t the men have conducted themselves accordingly?”

  A deep shade of red crept up Snowley’s cheeks, and he began to splutter.

  Damnation, had she embarrassed him? She’d show him embarrassment. “Weren’t you afraid someone would start passing the chamber pot and I’d have to be subjected to you pissing under the dining room table?”

  Snowley’s splutter turned into an outright cough. And to think he’d spent his childhood torturing Caro and her sisters with the wondrous sounds he could produce with his various orifices.

  “You can’t have it both ways,” she went on. “If you’re going to stand on strict ceremony, you ought to have defended my honor. Instead, you left that to the estate agent, a man who is supposedly beneath us all. And yet, I can’t help but think he’d make a far better duke than you will.”

  With that parting shot, she pushed past him and made fast for the staircase. The house lay still under the rising light of dawn, though the servants would doubtless emerge before long to attend their first duties.

  With the curtain still drawn, Caro’s bedchamber was cloaked in blessed darkness. Her bed beckoned with the promise of a peaceful haven for the next few hours. Except…

  Her eyes adjusted. There was a lump in the center of her mattress—a rather large lump that stirred.

  Before she could stop it, a screech popped from her lips.

  The lump materialized into her sister.

  “Pippa, what on earth are you doing in my bed?”

  Pippa pushed back the blankets. She, too, still wore her gown from the night before. “You weren’t occupying it. Where have you been?”

  “Save your scolding.” Caro reached behind her for the buttons at the back of her creased gown. “I’ve already had enough from Snowley.”

  Pippa stepped behind her to help her undress. “The least you can do is thank me. I covered for you with the other ladies.”

  “Damnation,” Caro muttered. She’d been so caught up in remaining in Pendleton’s good graces, she hadn’t even considered what the ladies would think. And some of them were surely acquainted with Sir Bellingham’s wife. Without a doubt, word of Caro’s escapades would reach Sir Bellingham’s ears. “I’ve made such a muck of things. And I left you to face the gossips.”

  “I overheard more than one unkind remark. I can only hope I smoothed over the speculation when I told them you weren’t feeling well and had retired early.”

  Caro slid her bodice down and stepped out of her gown. “I can only hope they believe you. I can only hope the men behave with suitable discretion.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s spoken to Snowley.” Pippa tugged at the laces of Caro’s stays. “He pulled me aside to tell me Mr. Crosby had to carry you out.”

  That was as sharp a probe for more information as Caro had ever heard. “Then he must have told you the rest—that Pendleton encouraged me to engage in a drinking competition, which put me rather in my cups. Mr. Crosby only observed that I was about to cast up my accounts and removed me from the dining room before I could stain the carpet.”

  “And you’re only just getting in now?” Pippa picked up Caro’s gown from the floor and folded it along with the stays.

  “I had so much to drink I fainted.”

  “But he didn’t bring you back to the manor.”

  “He has reason not to trust Pendleton.” Clad in nothing but her shift, Caro plopped herself down on her mattress and crossed her arms. “He merely saw to it that no one could harm me. Absolutely nothing…” She hesitated. She’d been about to say nothing had happened, but that wasn’t precisely true. Mr. Crosby had protected her. He’d watched over her most of the night. He’d taken care of her. And he’d demanded nothing in return. “Nothing untoward took place.”

  But it might have, and Pippa recognized as much. “Did he kiss you?”

  “Pendleton?”

  “Of course not. Mr. Crosby. You have to admit he’s quite…kissable.”

  “What on earth makes you think we’ve kissed?”

  “I don’t know.” The mattress sagged as Pippa sat beside Caro. “You’ve spent a lot of time with him since his arrival. I’ve noticed the way you look at him.”

  “You’ve looked at him the same way,” Caro protested.

  A grin spread across Pippa’s face. “If he’d consent, I wouldn’t mind making a study of him. For art’s sake, naturally. But I don’t believe he’d consent, because I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  What? Caro held in the question, but her heart performed a feat of acrobatics.

  “When you’re in the s
ame room together,” Pippa went on, “the air seems to crackle with life. I don’t know how you couldn’t have kissed.”

  “We certainly didn’t kiss last night. I told you I cast up my accounts.”

  Pippa’s grin only stretched wider. “Which implies he kissed you on another occasion.”

  Caro let out a breath. She wasn’t going to win this round, and at this rate, Pippa would never let her get any sleep. “Technically, I kissed him.”

  “Good heavens. Why have you not breathed so much as a word?”

  “I didn’t realize the topic would interest you. It’s not as if Mr. Crosby is suitable for me.”

  “Not in Papa’s eyes, perhaps, but that doesn’t mean you should write the man off simply because he’s not a gentleman. That doesn’t prevent him from being a good man, and if he makes your blood sing…Now I’d like to hear more.”

  Blood sing. Under normal circumstances Caro would have scoffed at such an overly romantic image. But since Mr. Crosby’s arrival at Sherrington, circumstances had been anything but normal. And maybe, just maybe, the expression described the buoyancy that made her feel weightless in his presence, like the rush of clearing a four-foot fence with room to spare, heart-pounding, joyous, free.

  Uncaged.

  “If I tell you,” Caro replied, “will you let me get some sleep?”

  —

  To avoid the entire manor discovering he’d spent most of the night with Lady Caroline, Adrian lingered in the stables until he judged it was safe to return. By then hunger gnawed at the pit of his belly, but he could hardly waltz into the breakfast room and help himself to the buffet. No, he’d do well to avoid running into Pendleton. The temptation to teach that scoundrel a lesson would prove too strong. And now that dawn had peeked over the horizon, the chance of meeting Lady Caroline’s guests rose with the sun.

  So he took the servants’ stairs down to the kitchens in hopes of sneaking a foretaste of the breakfast spread. The cavernous space hummed with activity. Flour coated the forearms of a broad-bosomed woman kneading dough on a scrubbed tabletop. By the roaring fire, a younger woman stirred a bubbling cast-iron kettle, while a scullery maid scrubbed pots in a corner.

  At his entrance, Cook scowled at him. “Yer late fer the meal in the servants’ hall.”

  He’d suspected as much. “I was hoping to prevail on your sense of generosity.”

  “I might be more inclined if ye didn’t turn up late fer every meal.” She punched her dough for emphasis.

  He pasted on his most winning smile. “If you make me up a plate of whatever you have to hand, I’ll sit quietly in the corner and you wain’t even know I’m here.”

  The undercook and the maid exchanged breathy giggles.

  Cook snatched a wooden spoon from the tabletop and brandished it. “I’ll know ye’re here because the pair of them won’t stop sighing over ye. And they don’t need the distraction.”

  “You wound me.” Adrian placed a hand over his heart. “You’ll have me wasting away with hunger.”

  “I doubt you’ll waste away any time soon,” said the scullery maid, sending him a sly smile.

  Not to be outdone, the undercook added, “Come over here, and I’ll take care of ye.” She’d filled a plate with eggs and sizzling bacon from a spider at the back of the hearth, but there was no mistaking the innuendo behind her words.

  “Back to work, both of ye,” Cook barked.

  “Thank you.” With a nod to the undercook Adrian took his plate and plucked a few pieces of toast from the rack waiting to be carried up. Just in time, he ducked out of the way of the spoon and seated himself at an unused worktable by the door.

  He’d just dug into his eggs when a newcomer blustered across the threshold.

  Cook threw up her hands in a puff of flour. “Am I ever going to get their lordships’ breakfast finished? What do ye want?”

  Sadie dropped into an exaggerated curtsey. “I’m here for Master Gus’s tray, yer queenship.” As she rose from her obeisance, her elbow brushed Adrian’s arm and she turned. In an instant, the sarcasm melted from her demeanor into something much closer to invitation. “My goodness, what are ye doing down here? That old cow is like to curdle yer eggs.”

  Adrian set his fork aside. “I’m enjoying the spectacle.”

  “Are ye now?” Sadie set a rounded hip against the corner of the table and, once more, leaned forward, giving him a good view of generous bosom.

  Cook waved her spoon again. “Take yer tray and off with ye. I don’t allow for none o’ that in me kitchen, and Mr. Crosby don’t need none o’ what yer offering.”

  Sadie wrinkled her nose and pushed herself away from the table. “She’s so dried out, she’s forgotten what it’s like.”

  “You’d better do as she says. I wouldn’t trust her not to whack you with that spoon.”

  Sadie’s smile dimmed, and something akin to guilt prickled at his conscience. He ought to take Sadie up on her offer, if only to ease the insistent stabs of lust that had been plaguing him in recent days. If he gave an outlet to his desire, perhaps he’d maintain a tighter rein over his body’s demands in the presence of Lady Caroline.

  Sadie, as well as the undercook and the scullery maid and any number of other willing lasses who worked on the estate, might be an appropriate choice for a man of his birth, not only to take to his bed but to marry. He could rescue any one of them from bastards like Fletcher and give them a decent life, bairns, and freedom from the drudgery of scrubbing endless pots under the gimlet eye of a minor tyrant.

  There was only one problem. Despite the tempting curves and the promise in her come-hither gaze, he didn’t want Sadie. Not with the pervasive, immediate, and utter need he experienced in Lady Caroline’s presence.

  Damn it all, he was well and truly buggered.

  “No,” Sadie whispered, her voice hoarse with a desperate note. “No, ye’re not supposed t’ put me off.”

  The wooden spoon whipped through the air to land with deadly accuracy in the middle of Adrian’s breakfast. Sadie jumped back to avoid the bits of scrambled eggs that flew in all directions.

  “Ye can’t say I didn’t warn ye,” Cook growled.

  “I think we’d best take the hint.” Adrian stood and took Sadie by the arm, pulling her into the passage just beyond Cook’s jurisdiction. “What’s brought this on?”

  Sadie pulled in a shaky breath. “Please, ye have to help me. I dunno what else t’ do.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “I’m about t’ lose me job. Ye can’t send me back to Fletcher.”

  “No, no,” he replied. “We wain’t let that happen. What makes you think you’ll lose your job here?”

  “Master Gus is all but better. Lady Caroline…” Another breath. “She said she’d see about finding me somethin’ else, but soon as all them fancy lords arrived, she forgot about the likes o’ me.”

  “She hasn’t forgotten, but she did have to see to her guests. I’m sure she’ll think about it, as soon as she has a moment.”

  “What can I do in a house like this? All I’m good for is scrubbing pots, and ye can just imagine how I’ll get on with her.” Sadie stabbed her chin in the direction of the kitchen. “And now I don’t even have me treasure map.”

  What the devil? “Treasure map?”

  “It was me way out, but Lady Caroline took it from me.”

  Steps echoing along the passage from above stopped Adrian’s questions for the moment. Whatever Sadie was going on about, he felt sure he didn’t want anyone else to overhear.

  A liveried footman brushed past them into the kitchen. Whatever he announced to Cook, it produced a roar of outrage that shook the walls.

  Christ almighty, what now? Adrian snagged the footman’s sleeve as he beat his retreat. “What did you tell her? That we’re expecting another hundred guests for dinner?”

  “Just the opposite, sir. I had to tell her we wouldn’t be needing breakfast. Lady Caroline’s hunting party have all left. Mr. Wilde to
ld them they were no longer welcome.”

  Chapter 22

  The pounding in Caro’s head had returned, low in the back of her mind, yet present. Tap, tap, tap, followed by a pause before it started in again, with the promise of worsening.

  Damnation.

  She opened her eyes to a somber bedchamber. Closed curtains shut out the daylight.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She shook off the cobwebs of sleep and sat up. The sound had come from the passageway. Someone was knocking at her door.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice creaked from disuse.

  “Sadie, me lady.”

  Caro blinked into the gloom, as if that might help her determine how long she’d slept. Sadie. Caro had meant to do something for the girl, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall what. “Come in.”

  The door swung open. A wedge of sunshine lit the threshold, indicating broad daylight. “Mr. Crosby sent me. He thought ye’d want t’ know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Mr. Pendleton has gone.”

  “What?” The pounding migrated to her chest and pressed all the air out of her lungs. No! He couldn’t have. Not yet.

  “He’s gone. Mr. Wilde sent him away.”

  Caro whipped back the covers. “Bloody hell.”

  “Couldn’t’ve said it better meself.”

  Caro ignored the girl. Damn her cousin. Damn him to the devil. Why did he have to meddle in her plans? Not that the answer to that made a whit of difference, as he’d shot them straight to hell. When she found Snowley, she would take a riding crop to him. Better, she’d wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged.

  But she couldn’t do that in nothing but her shift. “Damn it, where are my clothes?”

  Sadie breezed in and opened the curtains. “Might help if ye could see what ye was about.”

  Sunbeams blinded Caro for a moment, but then realization struck. It was earlier than she thought. The weight on her chest lessened somewhat. All was not lost—it couldn’t be.