The Rake to Reveal Her

by Julia Justiss

  ‘I’ll see if my mount and I can oblige.’

  As if sensing his hesitation, Miss Branwell said, ‘You need only pretend you’re mounted on your cavalry horse, sabre in hand, leading the charge.’

  If he were going to land on his rump, better to find out now. He couldn’t envision another person whose witnessing of that failure would bother him less than the compassionate Miss Branwell.

  Not only would she neither laugh nor carry tales, she’d probably make judicious notes about the cause of the fall and advise him how to correct his position.

  Smiling at that notion, he rode with her past the rest of Jeffers’s acreage, down a hill and around a bend, where they found an invitingly fallow meadow.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  ‘Ready.’ As I’ll ever be, he added silently. Dom set his mount off slowly, signalling the gelding through his paces. He found him responsive to his touch, not fighting him for control, as Diablo always had. He’d about convinced himself he was ready to try a full-out gallop when Miss Branwell, in the lead, looked back over her shoulder and shouted, ‘Race you to the stone wall!’

  No Ransleigh had ever refused a challenge. As her mare took off in a burst of speed, Dom spurred his gelding to follow.

  As the horse moved faster and faster, he found his body adjusting instinctively into the rise and fall of the horse’s stride. His hips and legs easy, the shift of his weight automatic, within minutes, he was able to transfer energy from worrying about balance to urging on his mount.

  The gelding accelerated, stretched himself out to a ground-eating pace. Wind whipped at his hat, air rushed through his lungs, his heartbeat accelerated...and joy began to bubble up from deep within, the pure joy he always felt when he became one with his mount in a full-out gallop.

  Miss Branwell looked back once, a brilliant grin on her face as she saw him closing behind her. Taking that as a tossed gauntlet, Dom pushed the horse harder. Just before they reached the stone fence at the far end of the pasture, he edged her mare out by a nose.

  Miss Branwell pulled her horse up and sprang down from the saddle. Energised, exuberant, he slid down beside her.

  ‘Not very chivalrous to beat you at the end, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, but what a run! How I’ve missed the good gallops I used to have with Papa, out on the plains of Spain and Portugal. And you—you were magnificent! Not many could beat Firefly when she’s got a lead, but you managed it. I knew you could do it!’

  With a joyous laugh, she threw her arms around him and tilted her head up.

  Despite a whisper of conscience that warned it was dishonourable to take advantage of her impulsive act, a company of French cuirassiers at the gallop couldn’t have kept him from claiming the lips so temptingly close.

  The kiss began slow and sweet, a soft brush of his mouth against hers. But then she made a small sound deep in her throat and parted her lips.

  A surge of heat and desire swamping him, he swept his tongue to claim hers. To his elation, she met his and fenced with it, laving him with slow, lush strokes that fired passion to a searing heat.

  With his one good arm, he pulled her against him and deepened the kiss while she wrapped her arms around his neck. He slid his hand down to cup her bottom, bringing her closer still, and she rubbed herself against his aching groin.

  White-hot lust obliterated everything but his need for her. One tiny, still functioning part of his brain applied itself to considering whether there was any usable surface where he could lay her down, raise her skirts and lose himself in her.

  The sound of a horse’s whinny finally penetrated the fog of lust. Shocked that he’d almost tried to ravish her at the edge of a field, where some farmer might at any moment have come by and discovered them, he released her and staggered a step away.

  Her eyes dreamy and unfocused, she stared up at him, her moist, kiss-rosy lips so appealing it was all he could do not to step closer and kiss her again.

  ‘If you apologise for that, I’m going to punch you,’ she murmured.

  Trust his Theo to say the unexpected, he thought, her unconventionality a joy. ‘If I did,’ he replied, smiling, ‘it would only be for form’s sake. I’ve wanted to kiss you practically from the moment I met you.’

  ‘As I’ve wanted to kiss you. Shocking, I know, and unmaidenly, but there you have it. So I am very, very glad I got to kiss you—and it was everything I’d dreamed it would be. But it must stop here. I wish...’ she sighed before continuing ‘...but wishing changes nothing. Episodes like this, if discovered, would ruin my reputation, and I cannot risk that, when any disgrace of mine would harm the future of my orphans. And you—well, you need to find that new direction for your life before you involve yourself with anyone.’

  Dom knew what she intended. Everything within him wanted to resist the conclusion, but she was right—which didn’t mean he had to like it. ‘Time to part?’ he said.

  ‘Time to part,’ she agreed. ‘Thank you, Dominic Ransleigh, for making my return to England easier and more joyful than I could ever have hoped, so soon after losing Papa. Thank you for all you’ve done, and continue to do, for my orphans. I wish you the best as you work towards your future—and you will find what you’re meant to do, I’m sure of it. I would ask only one more thing.’

  ‘Only one?’ he asked, amusement at that unlikely possibility breaking through his dismay over the note of finality in her speech.

  ‘Well, I can’t promise never to ask anything in future for the children, but I do promise never to ask anything else for me. Nothing but this. May I kiss you goodbye?’

  After a moment of shock at the unexpected request, he answered by pulling her into his embrace. She slid her fingers into his hair, sending shivers down his body as she tilted her head up and opened her mouth to him.

  Twining her tongue with his and moulding herself against his body, she kissed him with everything in her—lips, tongue, fingers stroking his head, legs and torso rubbing against him, even her booted foot wrapped around his ankle. She kissed him as if the world were about to end, as if there would never be anything of fire and passion and intimacy again.

  He took everything she offered, and returned it.

  When at last she released her hold on him, he was breathless and so dizzy he nearly fell over. For a few moments, there was nothing but their panting breaths and the almost tangible connection sparking in the air between them.

  ‘I would really rather consider that hello,’ he muttered when he’d assembled wits enough for speech.

  She gave him a little smile, so sad he felt an immediate need to assuage whatever hurt had caused it. His confusion and concern mounted as tears sheened her eyes.

  While he stood frozen, unsure what to do, she opened her lips as if to speak, closed them and shook her head, as if the situation were hopeless. ‘Goodbye...my very dear Mr Ransleigh,’ she whispered and turned away.

  Before his muzzy brain decoded her intent, she’d led her grazing mount to the rock ledge, scrambled up and launched herself into the saddle. Without another word, she kicked the mare to a gallop.

  Dom stood watching her ride away, his body still afire with unsatisfied desire, his thoughts in turmoil, while within the raging cauldron of chaotic emotion something shouted that letting her go was wrong.

  After a few more dazed moments, he shook himself free and went to claim his own horse. Leading it to the ledge, he remounted and nudged the gelding towards Bildenstone Hall.

  Hello, not goodbye, kept echoing in his brain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two weeks later, Dom was looking through records in the estate office, trying to make sense of harvest quantities, when Wilton came in, out of breath. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Ransleigh. We’ve just had a soldier stop by, asking for directions to the stone barn. He said he meant to call on Miss
Branwell.’

  An immediate stab of jealousy struck him, so surprising he didn’t quite hear Wilton’s next words.

  ‘...so you might ride over and check on her,’ the butler was saying.

  ‘Ride over and check on her?’ he repeated.

  ‘She may be there by herself, with just that young female teacher and the little ones, and no man to protect her.’

  ‘Did this soldier look like someone she might need protecting from?’

  ‘I can’t rightly say, sir. But he was young, and...vigorous.’

  While that observation didn’t make Dom’s struggle to suppress the unaccountable jealousy any easier, he did wonder about Wilton’s unusual level of concern for a girl he’d met only a handful of times. Had Miss Branwell confided to the butler that increasing the staff at Bildenstone—and thus easing his burdens—had been her idea? Somehow, that didn’t sound like her.

  ‘You seem rather worried.’

  ‘All the neighbourhood thinks highly of her, sir. Giving a place to Miss Andrews, when other families in the area that could have didn’t lift a finger. Employed many others, too, and Young Joe told me that she paid all the workers she hired twice the going rate, since she wanted the building completed as soon as possible. And made sure there was ham, cheese and ale available for all, so they didn’t have to bring their own. Mrs Greenlow was just telling Cook what a shame it was she lost her man in the war and fair broke her heart, her being so young to be alone, no matter but it’s noble for her to dedicate herself to those poor unfortunates. Anyways, no one would want to see any harm come to her.’

  Good thing she’s not hunting a new butler, Dom thought, awed at that paean of praise from the normally laconic Wilton. Still, he felt a swell of pride in her; some Christian folk gave lip service to the need to do good in the community, but the concern Theo Branwell showed for her orphans, the care she urged him to show for his employees, she showed to everyone.

  A pang of longing echoed through him. While he was dampening down that equally unsought-for emotion, Wilton said, ‘You will ride over and make sure everything is all right, won’t you, sir?’

  A rush of excitement stirred his senses. Though he felt somewhat guilty at taking advantage of this situation to break their self-imposed separation, he wouldn’t be staying long, and there would be a school full of witnesses to make sure he didn’t indulge any carnal longings. And though he was reasonably certain the redoubtable Miss Branwell, who’d followed the army from India to Portugal to Brussels, would have no trouble taking care of herself if some soldier turned importunate, she might still be alone and unprotected out there.

  Maybe it would be wise to check on her, he thought, a niggle of unease stirring.

  ‘Better send to the stables for my gelding.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ransleigh,’ Wilton said, obviously relieved.

  ‘I shall do my best,’ Dom assured the butler before trotting up the stairs to change into his riding gear.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, spurring his mount down the lane, Dom let his thoughts stray to the object he’d been trying so hard not to think of since the incident by the wildflower meadow.

  That kiss—heaven and stars, what a kiss! It’s a wonder he hadn’t turned molten on the spot. If she kissed like that, he couldn’t imagine what ecstasy a full loving could promise.

  But what pulled him to Theo Branwell was more than just a promise of sensual heaven. The fact that she’d shared and understood the demands, the sacrifices and the unequalled camaraderie of the army had drawn him to her from the first. He’d been gratified and delighted to find they shared a love of books and horses. She stimulated his mind as much as she stirred his body, challenging easy assumptions, jolting him to think in different directions, startling him with her unusual perspectives and her clear, bright honesty. She made him think more, dared him to do more, to be more.

  How much brighter his days had become since he stumbled into her in that lane! She’d pushed him into trying to drive and ride again, restoring those pleasures to him much sooner than he probably would have discovered them on his own.

  He admitted to himself that he’d been jealous when she’d talked about her lost fiancé. From what he’d seen of Theo Branwell, the man she loved would have been wrapped in a devotion so complete, so intense, nothing would ever have been able to penetrate it. Her fierce declaration of unlimited loyalty only underscored how easily he’d been able to part from Elizabeth, and how easily she’d let him go.

  In fact, thinking back on that kiss—a pleasure he’d sternly denied himself—he was convinced that, though Miss Branwell might be still unmarried, she was not completely inexperienced. She had been engaged to a man she loved completely; it wasn’t beyond possibility that they’d anticipated their vows.

  His body rejoiced at the idea of Theo Branwell coming to his bed, prompting his mind to consider possibilities for making that happen.

  Only a moment’s contemplation reminded him there were none. Experienced or not, he concluded with a sigh, she was still technically a maid. And she was quite right that an affair discovered would tarnish her reputation and make the lives of her orphans that much more difficult.

  Unless...unless he decided to court her with honourable intent?

  Shockingly, the voice of self-interest and prudence didn’t immediately reject the notion. Though, as they’d discussed, he didn’t yet have a clear idea of his future, and thus had no business asking anyone to share it, he could at this juncture not imagine finding a lady more delightful, challenging, and sensual than Theo Branwell.

  Fortunately, there was no need to make an immediate decision. He could let the tantalising notion rattle around in his brain and see where it ended up. Miss Branwell and her orphans were only just getting established in their new homes, and neither he nor she were going anywhere else any time soon.

  Pleased and intrigued by the possibility of being able to pursue an association with Theo Branwell after all, Dom kicked his mount to a canter and guided him down the lane to the stone barn.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Theo stood in the kitchen area at the school, supervising the installation of the new cooking stove. In the open space beyond, students at their desks recited a lesson, after which Miss Andrews had asked Theo to read them a story copied out of Bildenstone library’s volume of Arabian Nights.

  She needed to make one more trip to Thornfield, to fetch the rest of the linens for the beds and the kitchen. Within a few days, her vision would be fully realised as the students began using the building as both home and school.

  She’d not seen Dominic Ransleigh when she ventured back to Bildenstone’s library, a bored Constancia at her side. She hadn’t really expected to, but she’d been shaken anew by the strength of her disappointment and regret at missing him.

  The hard truth was she’d already grown too attached to him, and not just by the physical magnetism that drew her to him whenever he was near. She had come to crave his company and look forward to discussing all manner of topics with a mind as active and even more far-ranging than Papa’s. She loved listening to him talk about horses, discuss farm management and reminisce about his army days. She would love to scour the shelves in the Bildenstone library while they compared their favourite books.

  She recalled their wildflower ride, the disarming humility with which Ransleigh confessed he was still floundering to find his place, the deepening intimacy of friendship that had surrounded them as they talked so frankly, a bond as close and powerful as the more physical connection they’d shared after.

  Even now, she felt the urge to throw herself and all her energies into helping him identify the life’s work that would replace the calling he’d lost, sure whatever endeavour he settled upon, he would pursue it with vigour and competence.

  It would take but very little more involveme
nt to find herself falling in love with him. Which would be a disaster on so many counts.

  First and foremost, she had only to remember the catastrophe of losing Marshall. She’d fallen for her fiancé quickly and completely, investing every particle of her mind and heart. Imbued with the confidence of youth, she’d expected him to go through all the campaigns unscathed, as Papa always had. The loss of Lord Everly and his bereaved wife’s pain had scarcely shaken her confidence in the future she and Marshall would share.

  When, on the road to Lisbon, she’d received the terrible news of Marshall’s death in battle, she’d been at first incredulous and denying. Once the messenger her father dispatched was able to convince her of its truth, she’d fallen to her knees, struck down by a physical pain as great as if her chest had been cleft in two.

  She’d told everyone their long sojourn at the convent was because of Alicia’s ill heath, but in truth, her companion could probably have made it to Lisbon. It was Theo who, after reaching the nunnery where they’d arranged to spend the night, had collapsed, inconsolable. Paralysed by grief and despair, she lay for days unmoving, pushing away the meals the nuns brought her, scarcely able to dress or groom herself.

  If it hadn’t been for the need to care for the infant Charles, she wasn’t sure she would ever have emerged from that spiral of misery.

  Now, when she looked up at Ransleigh’s face, caught in that mesmerising blue gaze, wrapping herself up in his brilliant smile, her mind captivated by his wit and beguiled by his charm, she thought how easy it would be to fall again just as completely for Dominic Ransleigh.

  Her illusions of safety destroyed by the deaths of Marshall and her father, she wasn’t sure she could survive losing anyone else.

  And if she couldn’t risk falling in love with him, no more could she risk making love to him. She no longer had any doubt about the strength of the physical pull between them; if she kept seeing him, sooner or later the siren song of passion would drown out the voice of prudence and caution—she’d been reckless enough already, kissing him with total abandon in that farmer’s field. The results of discovery, for herself and her orphans, would have been too dire to contemplate.