Her laugh made something tighten in his chest. “Are you mad? Pierce never rises until well after noon.” She cast him a sly glance above the flowers. “I’m surprised you’re here so early.”
“I always rise early. Can’t sleep late.”
“Really? Why?”
A bellow sounded from the fence. “Are you coming, Sharpe, or not?”
He gave her a bow and headed toward her grandfather. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he would bear it for as long as it took. He was a Sharpe—and no curmudgeon of a cavalry officer was going to keep him from getting what he wanted.
Chapter Eleven
Five days later, Virginia stood at the breakfast room window watching the drive. She’d hurried to eat her breakfast so she’d be ready. It was nearly eight.
Every day she’d expected not to see Gabriel again, and every day he’d appeared with the regularity of a paid laborer. And whenever he appeared, he chipped away at her defenses.
Why? They spent little time alone together—her grandfather and cousin made sure of that. She mostly saw him when she brought out sandwiches midday, as she’d always done. And if they did have a moment to themselves, he didn’t attempt to kiss her. Not that she wanted him to. Just because she happened to think about his kisses occasionally, and wonder if they’d really been as amazing as she remembered, didn’t mean a thing.
She found it interesting to listen while he and Poppy ate and talked of horse training, but that wasn’t because she was falling under his spell. No, indeed. She merely got tired of working in the house sometimes.
That’s why she went out to watch as they dealt with a mare in heat or exercised a Thoroughbred. It wasn’t out of annoyance that Gabriel seemed more interested in the horses than in her. Although he was supposed to be courting her. Not that she wanted him to. But when people said they were at a place to do a certain thing, they ought to do it, that’s all.
She caught sight of Gabriel at the end of the drive, and her breath stuck in her throat. Sweet Lord, he looked fine. He sat a horse better than any man she knew: riding seemed as natural as breathing to him. He and the horse moved as one fluid beast, sinew and muscle flexing together, making her mouth go dry.
“He’s here again, is he?” said a smooth voice behind her.
She jumped, then pressed a hand to her heart. “Pierce! Don’t sneak up on me like that. What are you doing up so early, anyway? Poppy hasn’t even come down yet.”
Pierce strode up to her at the sideboard. “I told you yesterday that I was heading home this morning and planned to get an early start.”
“I didn’t believe you. You don’t rise early for anything.”
“I do generally make a point of enjoying my nights in some other way than sleeping,” he said with a wink. “But sadly, my estate manager doesn’t do the same, so if I don’t get there before he retires for the evening, I’m not going to find out what was so all-fired important that he couldn’t wait another week for me to return.”
Pierce’s steward had been sending increasingly urgent messages. She knew he’d been ignoring them for her sake, because of Gabriel’s presence, but couldn’t do so any longer.
He filled a plate with toast and cheese and sat down. “So, I take it that Sharpe showed up again this morning.”
She couldn’t hide her blush. “I have no idea,” she said blithely.
He eyed her askance. “No, you were standing there precisely at eight to watch the hay men come in.”
With a sniff, she left the window. “I merely enjoy looking at the sunflowers in bloom.”
“I suppose that’s also why you resemble a flower in bloom yourself these days,” he said with a smug smile.
“She’s wearing her best gowns for you, that’s what it is,” Poppy said cheerily as he entered the room.
“Yes,” Pierce drawled, a devilish look in his eyes. “All for me. Isn’t that sweet?”
Glowering at him, she tugged self-consciously at the lace fichu-pelerine she usually left off, then went to the sideboard to wrap a slice of bread about two sausages for Poppy. Otherwise he wouldn’t eat breakfast at all. “I happen to like this gown, that’s all.”
She did like her pelisse-robe, mostly because the cut flattered her figure, and it had fancy little Spanish bows that made her feel pretty. Wearing it—or yesterday’s striped gown with the handsome sleeves—had nothing to do with anyone. It certainly wasn’t because of the heated glances of admiration Gabriel gave her whenever Poppy’s back was turned. No, indeed.
“Well, you can tell she’s happy to have you here,” Poppy said, utterly unaware of Pierce’s sly hints. “She’s been spreading lavender all through the house to make it smell nice for you.”
Pierce’s laugh turned into a cough when she scowled at him. Virginia walked over to pour Pierce some tea. “I like lavender. It’s got nothing to do with Pierce or anyone else.”
Poppy winked at his great-nephew. “So you say. Meanwhile, we’re about to choke to death on the smell.”
Her cousin shot her a look of pure mischief. “Actually, Uncle Isaac, I believe she’s getting the lavender from—”
“The garden,” she said quickly. She held his teacup directly over his lap and began to pour hot tea into it. “Isn’t that right, cousin?”
His eyes went wide. One slip of her hand and his nights were going to be decidedly less enjoyable. “Absolutely.”
“Well, see that you don’t clear out the garden entirely.” Poppy wolfed down the remainder of his breakfast. “I know you use it for possets and such. You’ll run out of it before winter at this rate.”
“Yes, cuz, do be careful,” Pierce said, eyes twinkling.
She glared at him as she set down the tea and poured a glass of milk.
“Got to go,” Poppy said. Pausing only long enough to grab the glass she handed him and gulp down its contents, Poppy headed for the door. “Today I’m putting Ghost Rider through his paces, to see if I can get him up to snuff for the St. Leger Stakes. I’ve got to do it while Sharpe is out of the way.”
“Out of the way?” Pierce asked.
Her grandfather grinned. “I’m having him muck out the stables again.”
“Poppy!” she protested. “Wasn’t it enough that you made him do it his first day? I’m sure he ruined his clothes.”
That reminded her . . . She hurried to fetch Poppy’s surtout, since their footman was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s not my fault he wasn’t dressed properly. And if he takes his bloody clothes off to work in the stables now, it’s not my fault if he catches a cold.”
She helped Poppy into his surtout. “A cold? It’s summer, for heaven’s sake. So you can’t blame him for taking his coat off.”
“That’s no reason for him to go bare-chested. He’ll catch his death if he goes about like that. It’s not healthy, I tell you.” Poppy headed for the door.
Gabriel went bare-chested in the stables? Surely Poppy didn’t mean that he went without even a shirt.
“Might want to close your mouth, cousin,” Pierce said dryly, “before you catch flies.”
She whirled on him. “I wish you’d stop letting Poppy think you really mean to marry me.”
“I do mean to marry you.” Pierce grinned. “Assuming you don’t run off with a bare-chested Sharpe first, adorned by all the lavender he keeps bringing you.”
“How did you know about the lavender?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. I saw him give it to Molly for you one morning. He’s been doing it every day, hasn’t he?”
She couldn’t prevent a small smile. “Yes.” Her smile faded. “But Poppy doesn’t know, and don’t you tell him.”
“I’m shocked he hasn’t figured it out himself. Flowers are exactly the sort of boring gift a man like Sharpe would consider romantic.”
“They’re not boring at all!” She cursed herself for her quick tongue. But she couldn’t help it; no one had ever brought her flowers before. She found it terribly sweet.
<
br /> Pierce eyed her closely as he poured himself more tea. “Of course, volunteering to help around here was rather original. To be honest, I didn’t expect him to last this long.”
“Neither did I,” she admitted. “Not that I care.”
“If you don’t care, then what are these doing here?” He flicked his hand toward a plate of lemon tarts on the sideboard. “I heard Sharpe tell Cook that first day that he loved lemon tarts. And ever since, they’ve been appearing on the sideboard for when he and Uncle Isaac come in for tea.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m sure Cook is just trying to make him feel at home.”
“Cook doesn’t even make lemon tarts for me, my dear, and I’m her favorite. Besides, you’re the one who tells her what to cook.” He drained his teacup, then set it down. “Be careful, cuz,” he said softly. “Sharpe isn’t some stray dog you can lure into loving you with lemon tarts. Be sure that he’s what you want, just as he is, before you tip your hand.”
“I’m not trying to lure him into anything. I didn’t ask him to work on the stud farm—he chose to do that himself.”
For me. To court me. Oh, how she wished that didn’t thrill her every time she thought of it.
A knock came at the breakfast room door. “My lord, your carriage is ready.”
“Thank you, James.” Pierce finished his toast, then came around the table. “Will you see me out?”
“Of course.”
She took his arm as they headed for the entrance hall. “I’m going to miss you, you know.”
“I should hope so. I’m practically your fiancé.”
“Oh, fie. Would you stop that nonsense?”
He laughed. “I will when it stops annoying you.”
They went out onto the drive to find Gabriel coming back from the pasture where he’d apparently led a couple of horses, probably emptying the stalls in preparation for mucking them out.
Gabriel halted. “So you’re leaving, eh, Devonmont?” He sounded rather pleased.
“Duty calls.” Pierce turned to her. “That reminds me, I forgot to mention to Uncle Isaac that I went over all the books and they appear to be in order. But he does have a few bills of lading that are incorrectly entered, and he should press that farmer next door for payment. Neighbor or no, the man needs to pay the stud fee.”
“I’ll tell him, but he won’t do anything about it. You know Poppy—he feels sorry for the fellow.”
Pierce shook his head. “There’s no point in helping him with his accounts if he ignores my advice.”
“I know, but he does appreciate it. Truly.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “As do I.”
Pierce cast a sidelong glance to where Gabriel stood listening, and drawled, “Surely you can give your future fiancé a better thank-you than that.”
And without warning, he grasped her head in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. It wasn’t restrained or brief. He lingered, for pity’s sake.
“Now see here,” Gabriel growled, “you can’t do that to her.”
Drawing back, Pierce winked at her. “I don’t see why not. Cousins are allowed to kiss.”
Gabriel came nearer. “That wasn’t a cousinly kiss,” he bit out.
“Virginia didn’t mind.” Pierce’s eyes gleamed mischief at her. “Did you, dearest?”
She hardly knew how to respond. Pierce had never kissed her on the lips before. She’d have expected more of an impact. After all, Pierce was famous for his talent with women. But it had just been strange and uncomfortable, like kissing a brother on the lips.
“Well?” Gabriel snapped. “Did you mind?”
“I-I . . . no. Of course not.” She didn’t want Gabriel thrashing her cousin for some perceived insult to her honor.
“I see.” Gabriel stalked off toward the stables.
As soon as he was out of earshot, she gave Pierce a shove. “What was that for?”
Pierce grinned. “Just having a little fun.”
She let out a frustrated huff. “Now he’s going to think you and I have been . . . doing things that we haven’t. And then there’s the servants—”
“Who know perfectly well there’s nothing going on between us, you little widgeon. It never hurts to make a man stew a bit. Can’t have him thinking you’re easy pickings, when you’re throwing lemon tarts at him and dressing in your best gowns and watching for him out the window.”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed. “He doesn’t know I’m doing those things.”
“Then he’s blind.” He chucked her under the chin. “He already wants to marry you. You don’t have to work so hard at convincing him it’s a good idea.”
“I’m not! And he only wants to marry me so he can gain his inheritance.”
“Perhaps.” He glanced toward the barn. “Perhaps not.” Pierce suddenly turned very serious. “See here, cuz, if anything happens while I’m gone, send a note to Hertfordshire and I’ll come back at once.”
“I know. You’re a dear.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “A very wicked dear, but I suppose that’s to be expected with the way you live when you’re in London.”
He fixed a disturbingly intent gaze on her. “That kiss didn’t affect you at all, did it?”
She blinked. “It was . . . perfectly pleasant.”
A rueful laugh escaped him. “Pleasant, eh? You really know how to cut a man off at the knees. Take care, will you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
But as he drove away, her smile faltered. She couldn’t stop thinking of the look on Gabriel’s face when he’d said, “I see,” as if somehow she’d betrayed him. She hadn’t; there was no understanding between them. Nonetheless . . .
Glancing about, she realized that all the servants had disappeared. Poppy was off with Ghost Rider in the back pasture, and their two grooms were probably with him. Which left Gabriel alone in the stable.
Perhaps she should talk to Gabriel about Pierce. She could only imagine what Gabriel must think after Pierce’s mischief, and she wanted to set him straight.
You just want to see if Gabriel really works in there bare-chested, her conscience said.
Stupid conscience. And it was wrong, too.
Still, she swallowed as she headed for the kitchen garden, which just happened to be next to the back entrance to the stable. And she was careful to make no sound as she slipped inside.
She halted next to the ladder that led up to the hay loft. Perhaps before she spoke to him, she should watch him at work. After all, Poppy didn’t know for sure that he was doing a decent job—for all they knew, he was paying off one of the laborers to do the work.
You don’t really believe that, her conscience said. You just want to spy on him.
With a scowl for her conscience, she hurried up the ladder, then crept through the hay until she could see him below.
She sucked in a breath. Sweet Lord in heaven, he was bare-chested. He had nothing on from the waist up. And he was attacking the straw with a pitchfork as if it were an enemy soldier he’d met in battle.
A half-naked Gabriel in black buckskin breeches and boots was a sight to behold. The well-defined muscles in his arms flexed with each scoop of the pitchfork, and his back showed every ferocious stab, the sinews tightening in a marvelous dance. She’d never seen a man’s naked back before, but she doubted that they all looked as spectacular as Gabriel’s.
Then he bent over to pick up some tack that had fallen in the straw. His loose breeches tightened over his bottom, and she gasped. As he froze, she clapped her hand over her mouth. If he caught her watching him . . .
But then he straightened, and she let out an inward sigh of relief. He hadn’t heard her after all. He bent again, and this time she took the chance to stare at his amazing bottom. Was it supposed to look that . . . well . . . firm?
When he finally returned to shoveling, she couldn’t decide which she liked better—watching him bend over or watching him shovel. She wasn’t surprised to discover that he had a most attractive form,
but she hadn’t known that seeing so much of it revealed would have this astonishing effect on her. With the sheen of perspiration making his back glisten, she could think of nothing but how she would like to touch his muscles. Which was absolutely ludicrous.
After a few moments lying enraptured in the straw, she began to crave more. Turn around, turn around, turn around, she chanted in her head, almost desperate to see the front of him.
And when he did, picking up the wheelbarrow handles and angling it toward the back door, she bit her fist to keep from sighing aloud. Lord have mercy on her soul. How had he come to be so exquisitely fashioned?
He had a little brushing of hair in the middle of his chest and circling his navel, but otherwise his entire upper body looked carved from oak. His flesh looked taut and unyielding, with ripples of muscles running down his belly. She could scarcely breathe at the sight of so much male . . . endowment.
She was almost glad when he disappeared out the back of the stable. At last she could catch her breath. She ought to climb down the ladder and wait for him at the bottom so he wouldn’t know she’d been watching him, but what if he caught her?
No, she’d just wait until he was busy shoveling again. Then she would creep down and approach as if she’d come in from outside. That would work. And if he happened to—
“Enjoying yourself, are you?”
With a squeal, she scrambled to her feet and swung around. To her utter mortification, there stood Gabriel, a few feet away.
And judging from the black scowl on his brow and the fierce glitter in his eyes, he was furious.
Chapter Twelve
Gabe couldn’t believe it. After all he’d endured this week, she had the audacity to spy on him! Wasn’t it enough that she’d happily kissed her cousin while he stood there watching and seething?
And now she was probably in here making sure that he did exactly what her blasted grandfather wanted.
At least she had the good grace to be embarrassed; hot color crawled up her neck to her face. “I . . . I . . .”
“You were spying on me. Again.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you worried that your grandfather won’t get enough work out of me? Or did he ask you to report on my progress? I guess it’s not enough for him that he’s got me working like some damned groom—”
To Wed a Wild Lord Page 15