by Brenda Joyce
She sighed, aware of how foolish she was, watching a carriage pulled by six white geldings roll up the long, graveled drive, and not caring who it was because it wasn’t his majestic black coach with the blazing trio of lions embossed upon the doors.
“What a beautiful home,” Regina sighed lazily. “Lady Isobel is renowned for her elegance.”
Nicole nodded, having barely looked at the room. The walls were covered in a blue and white fabric, the sofa in rose damask, the beds done up in mountains of white lace with blue and white pillows. One huge, cherry-colored Oriental carpet covered most of the floor, and as the room was large enough to accommodate two guests in separate beds quite comfortably, it was no small feat.
“She is also renowned for her skill in matters of business,” Nicole remarked. Before meeting the Dowager Duchess she had heard of her. Who hadn’t? Very few women ran several business enterprises as she did, and none of them were of the peerage. Nicole had known she was reputed to be attractive, but her reputation was more that of a strong, clever woman, and before Nicole had met her she had expected someone else entirely, someone more handsome and more masculine, not a woman of timeless feminine beauty and extraordinary kindness.
“Renowned? Notorious is more like it,” Regina tossed. “They say she is named after an infamous ancestor of hers, a woman who had several husbands and was the mistress of a Turkish sultan and the king.”
Nicole smiled, not believing such a tale. “A Turkish sultan? Which king?” she asked dryly.
“I guess it was one of the Conqueror’s sons,” Regina said. “It was ages ago.”
Another carriage was rumbling up the drive, and Nicole quickly turned to the window. But it was not him.
“What will you do, if he comes with Elizabeth?”
“Of course he’s coming with Elizabeth,” Nicole said sharply.
“Maybe he won’t,” Regina said, ignoring her sister’s tone. “Maybe he’s so smitten with you he—”
“Regina, please stop it!” Nicole cried, wringing her hands. If her sister continued with her silly schoolgirl fantasies, she would drive her out of her mind—and feed the tiniest sparks of hope that Nicole was determined to douse. Nicole did not want to hope. Hoping was too painful.
“But she doesn’t hunt,” Regina said pointedly. “So why should she come?”
Nicole controlled her temper. “You are not hunting either tomorrow, and neither is Mother. Nor is Father, for that matter!” The Earl had pulled a muscle in his leg earlier in the week and was under strict instructions to recline whenever possible, and riding was out of the question.
“I guess you are right,” Regina said, when a knock on the door interrupted her, signaling the arrival of their tea.
Gratefully, Nicole let the servant enter. She continued to keep a not-so-discreet watch on the driveway below. But by the time they went downstairs, the Duke of Clayborough had yet to arrive. And as it turned out, Regina was right. Elizabeth was not at supper that night. But then neither was the Duke.
The hunt was scheduled for nine that morning. Prior to that, all those participating attended a large breakfast, where spirits ran high. Nicole was as excited as the other guests. The night before she had been disappointed that the Duke of Clayborough had not been present and that he was not even at Maddington. She had not slept well. But now all traces of fatigue and disappointment vanished as her pulse quickened in anticipation of the upcoming hunt.
Most of those hunting that day were men, but several ladies were present, including the Dowager Duchess. She had the reputation of being an excellent horsewoman. Every year she had several fabulous hunting weekends, and invitations to these events were highly coveted and hard to obtain.
The Dowager Duchess’ guests were always the creme de la creme of English society, and this weekend was no exception. Those eagerly awaiting the call to mount up consisted of several dukes, a half dozen marquesses, many earls and the Prince of Wales. There were a few foreigners present as well, including several royal members of the House of Hapsburg and two Russian ex-patriate noblemen. The one thing everyone had in common at these gatherings, other than power and blue blood, was their love of horses.
At the close of the breakfast meal, Isobel rang a small silver bell to gain everyone’s attention. “Shall we?” she asked smiling, her eyes sparkling.
A rousing cry greeted Isobel’s words as everyone lunged to their feet, including Nicole. She turned toward the doorway with an excited smile, her mind no longer on the Duke. But then she froze.
He stood there, dressed for the hunt in tan breeches, gleaming black high-top boots, a scarlet hunting jacket and a top hat. His gaze was fixed upon her.
Nicole had learned last night that, although he and Elizabeth had been invited for the weekend, they would not be coming. Elizabeth was ill again and confined to her bed. A maid told her that speculation ran rampant as to what, exactly, was wrong with the young lady, and the several physicians who had attended her could not reach an agreement upon what malady afflicted her. Seeing the Duke now was a distinct shock, but not an unpleasant one. Already keyed up, Nicole began trembling.
He swept his gaze away from hers and strolled casually to his mother, kissing her cheek and offering her a lazy good morning. He was promptly surrounded by many of the guests, all greeting him heartily and offering him sincere condolences for his fiancée’s health.
Nicole left him responding politely to his mother’s guests and followed those who were already gathering in the courtyard outside. Soon the rest of the group joined her as the grooms began bringing out their mounts. Everyone had brought their own hunters with them, including Nicole. Although she had wished to bring her bay stallion, that would have been foolhardy, for he was too much to handle riding sidesaddle, which propriety dictated she must do. She had brought a big black gelding instead, and now she went to him and stroked his neck. He snorted and shook his head, sensing her excitement, restlessly moving around her. But it was not the sixteen-hand hunter she was thinking about, it was the Duke of Clayborough.
He was here, he had come after all. Without Elizabeth.
Instantly she hugged her gelding’s neck, her back to the small crowd. Whatever was she thinking? It did not matter that he had come alone. Even though Elizabeth had not come, the few words they might share, the few moments, were only that, a few moments, and could not be more. Not ever.
She had to stop her errant thoughts, she had to. Not just because they were hopeless, but because hunting was a dangerous sport and she needed all of her concentration to participate in it. It was easier to focus on the hunt than on her heart.
But just when it seemed that she might successfully do so, he stopped behind her. She did not have to turn to see him to know it was he, nor did he have to speak to identify himself. She just knew.
“Good morning, Lady Shelton.” The greeting was offered politely, yet Nicole thought that she heard more.
Reminding herself to be casual, reminding herself that no one but she herself could possibly know how rapidly her heart beat, she turned to face him. Their gazes met instantly. It was a moment of extreme intimacy even though the courtyard was a madhouse, filled as it was with two dozen restless horses, their excited riders and all the grooms. He could not seem to tear his gaze from hers, and Nicole felt the full force of his power, for he seemed to be attempting to reach into the depths of her heart and soul. In that instant, she knew that something had changed between them. She dared not consider what it might be. “It will be good sport today, the weather is perfect,” she said as lightly as she could.
“Nevertheless,” he said, moving to the black’s side and checking the girth, “we have a large group. Hunting with so many riders invites accidents. Stay far to the back.”
Nicole’s eyes widened in surprised protest, for she never rode in the back, although that was where ladies were supposed to ride, and she had no intention of doing so now. Then it occurred to her that he might be worried for her safety. She had a fl
ashing remembrance of how he had rescued her at the charity picnic. Was it possible? Did he actually care for her, just a little? She found herself staring up at him. The Duke stared back at her.
Very abruptly he held out his hands, cupped for her knee. Nicole allowed him to help her mount, hooking her leg over the sidesaddle and taking up her reins. “Thank you.”
“Good hunting,” he said curtly, turning away.
“Good hunting,” Nicole echoed to his back. She watched him as he strode away to his own mount, a big black stallion with a bold blaze and two socks. Nicole exhaled, her senses running riot. Her hunter began to dance impatiently, sensing her mood, and Nicole had to concentrate on calming him.
Five minutes later they were off. The hounds had picked up the scent of the fox and were braying madly, racing across the first meadow. Nicole allowed herself to be jostled into the back with the other ladies as they started. Now, as the herd of horses and riders cantered across the rolling meadow, following the hounds, she couldn’t help but be attuned to where the Duke was, riding far ahead of her at the front.
The group began to spread out as they approached the first fence, a low stone wall. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! A dozen horses cleared it, then a dozen more, some nearly in tandem. The group was stretching out as each rider found his own pace, the ladies falling back. Nicole moved forward, ahead of the ladies. She passed the Dowager Duchess whose first look of surprise changed to a smile.
The several gentlemen whom she then came abreast of were not so charitable. They were more than startled as she galloped by them, they were shocked. Only a Russian nobleman grinned at her daring.
A small stream lay ahead. Her hunter flew over it gracefully without breaking stride and Nicole laughed in sheer pleasure, caught up now in the thrill of the madcap ride. She passed another rider, recognizing Elizabeth’s father, the Marquess of Stafford. He too looked rather stunned at her bold riding, but Nicole didn’t care. Her hunter was in a controlled gallop and Nicole was steadily moving him into the middle of the pack. A large chicken coop blocked the trail. Ahead of Nicole, two bays took it, one after the other, the first horse catching his back hooves on the top rail and stumbling on the other side. The other rider was so closely behind the first that Nicole decided there might be an accident, and she urged her mount to veer slightly, already collecting him. They soared over the coop at an angle, and she was glad to see that the two riders had managed not to go down. A second later she passed them as well.
Two miles later, Nicole was behind the Duke and the huntmaster, who were by now far in the lead. A four foot stone wall loomed ahead and she had time to watch the Duke take it effortlessly, and admire him as he did so. Her hunter, eager to move to the front, was running hard now. Nicole fought to check him, the wall loomed, and they hurled above it. They landed smoothly and she let him run.
He stretched out into a full gallop, Nicole leaning as far forward as she dared without sacrificing her precarious balance. Her hunter’s nose touched the flank of the Duke’s stallion. He turned his head, saw her, and looked absolutely stunned.
Nicole laughed exultantly as she drew abreast of him.
“Get back!” he shouted as they galloped side by side, their two huge hunters tearing up the ground, their powerful hooves thundering loudly and nearly drowning out his words. “Dammit, get to the back!”
“Watch out,” Nicole cried, still laughing. They were three strides from another four-foot hurdle, this one made of split logs. The Duke had no choice but to turn his concentration to his own mount. Both riders collected their horses simultaneously, and in perfect unison, they soared over, landing side by side and stride for stride.
Moments later he turned to her again. “I mean it, you fool!” he shouted, furious. “You will kill yourself! Get to the back now!”
“I always ride in the front,” she shouted back defiantly. But Nicole was enjoying every moment of the wild ride—and his anger. Beneath her thighs, the horse was hot and powerful, a ton of horseflesh she controlled with only her skill and her body. And beside her, astride his own powerful, thundering stallion, the Duke had just as potent an effect on her senses, handsome, male, virile, and now, enraged.
“Slow down,” he commanded, shouting above the braying hounds and the furiously pounding hoofbeats. “Ahead is a treacherous in-and-out.”
Nicole only shot him a grin, letting her hunter move out even faster. Behind her now, the Duke cursed.
The in-and-out was treacherous, with only a stride between both fences, but Nicole was showing off and loving it. She took both fences a tad recklessly, yet faultlessly, too. Moments later the Duke moved alongside her again. One glance at his face showed her how angry he was, but stoically he was accepting that he could not make her slow down without interfering dangerously with her. They galloped together, the two hunters well-matched, running in tandem. They did not speak again. The sound of the animals’ heavy blowing and the thunder of their hooves made it almost impossible. Nicole was overwhelmed now by the feel of the hot, wet horseflesh under her legs, by the physical sensation of being one with the racing, powerful animal, by the speed at which they were traveling—and by the Duke’s proximity.
An hour later the hunt had ended and all the riders had gathered, the last few ladies included. Nicole had allowed herself to drop to the back of the group as they returned to the manor, holding her horse to a tight walk, ignoring the animal’s protests. She understood the beast, for she felt the same way herself. Although tired from the long, difficult ride, she was too exhilarated to want to stop, and if it had gone on, she would have eagerly continued, too.
The Duke, of course, rode far in front. He had left her the moment it was over, tight-lipped, eyes blazing, apparently too angry even to speak to her. It was not his place to chastise her, yet she had a feeling he would. Nicole was still too exhilarated to be apprehensive. She had never enjoyed a hunt more!
She was so wrapped up in the afterglow that it did not register at first that the other ladies were regarding her quite coldly, with the exception of the Dowager Duchess, who was riding somewhat ahead of the ladies and was oblivious to their stares. When Nicole realized that she was the object of their disapproval she wanted to laugh in their faces. Because they could not ride as she did, because they did not have the courage to ride as she did, they condemned her for enjoying the sport the way a man would. Nothing could dampen the joy that she was feeling, not today. She slowed her hunter even more, not wanting their company and allowing them to move ahead of her. A moment later she realized her mount’s gait was off.
Frowning, she pulled him to a halt and dismounted, patting his corded, wet neck. An inspection of his front left hoof showed her that a small stone was wedged there. Worried, Nicole pried it loose, afraid it had been there during the hunt, which could mean a serious, even crippling, injury to her mount. To her relief, an inspection proved that the pad was only tender; he had only picked up the stone recently and soon he should be as good as new.
“You were superb, darling,” she crooned, stroking his soft muzzle. “So superb.” The Duke’s image filled her mind.
She turned and with a sigh saw that the riders had all disappeared around a corner on the trail. No matter, she would walk the black the rest of the way. Taking his reins, she led him along the path.
The Duke of Clayborough was steaming with anger. His stallion felt it, skittering about and tossing his head restlessly. Nicole Shelton might be the finest rider he had ever seen, but she was a reckless fool. Right now he wanted nothing more than to put his hands on her and shake her until she admitted how wrong she had been.
No one attempted to talk to him for they sensed his mood, and Hadrian rode alone, off to the side of the group. Their laughter and chatter filled the quiet morning, echoing in the woods. The Duke heard nothing of what they were saying as they excitedly retold and relived the hunt. He was just too angry.
And the least of it was that she had defied him, although that was incredible too. He
had ordered her to the back—and she had laughed at him and ridden to the front. In that moment, he could not think of a single person, male or female, who had ever disobeyed an express command of his.
She was lucky that she hadn’t had a serious accident the way she had been riding, she was lucky she hadn’t caused a serious accident. He had seen many terrible accidents resulting from careful riding in this sport, much less reckless riding. People broke their necks and were killed, and he had seen one young lad paralysed. One day she would become the sport’s hapless victim too, if she continued to hunt like that. By God, it would have been bad enough if she had been riding astride, but she had been riding sidesaddle! It was lunacy!
He took a deep breath to steady his own raging nerves. His pulse was still racing, adrenaline still coursing through him. He could not shake her image from his mind as she had been during the past two hours. Nearly six feet of superb woman riding like a bat out of hell, exhilaration written all over her face. He could still hear her laughter, wild and reckless. He could still feel her beside him as they rode like demons possessed on the straining, racing hunters. A surge of heat swept his body and he actually trembled.
She rode like a savage. She had been, he had to admit, magnificent. She would be, he knew without a doubt, equally magnificent in bed. In his bed. Suddenly, in that instant, he wanted her so much he was ready to drag her into the woods and do as he would, right then and there.
He took a few more deep breaths to ease the most agonizing state he had ever been in. Then, not at all assuaged, he turned to search for a glimpse of her. To his shock, she was nowhere in sight.
Abruptly he wheeled his stallion around and rode up to the ladies riding last in line along the trail. “Where is Lady Shelton?”
Looking surprised, they all turned to stare behind them. “I don’t know, Your Grace,” the Countess Arondale said. “She was behind us a moment ago.”