His eyes lowered to her high, rounded breasts. Amply-endowed and much to his liking, their fullness was undisguised by the less than flattering gown she’d chosen. He’d already noted that her hips flared womanly beneath the gown’s skirt as she came toward him. If he undressed her—and he could scarcely wait to do so—he was certain he’d be rewarded with long, svelte thighs tapering into shapely calves and slender ankles.
From the salon and down the length of the dinner table, she had tempted him. He imagined lengthy, passionate encounters yet to come with the young Widow Lockler.
Antonio’s burgeoning lust was riding high as he mused what he’d like to do to her. He ruminated how to go about it, promising himself he’d arrange a way to bring them together, to explore new ways of making love with her. She was his friend’s sister, unfortunately, but wasn’t there some way to circumvent both Hal and Polite Society’s stifling, moral barriers?
* * * *
Caroline welcomed the evening’s finale. She had been uncomfortable because Antonio had been staring at her. She was appalled by it, but at the same time, his intent gaze titillated her sensibilities.
Finally, footmen removed the dessert course, and Caroline gave the signal. The ladies rose, excused themselves, and retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port, cigars, and masculine conversation. After a half hour, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies for tea. This time, talk drifted to horses and equestrian pursuits.
“Do you ride, Senora Lockler?” Antonio asked, strolling leisurely to stand beside her.
Of course, I ride. Every chance I get. I need my morning jaunts to chase away the blue devils.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she answered politely.
“Then I wonder if you and Crestwood would care to join my sister and me for a canter tomorrow. We plan to ride in your direction if weather permits. I wish to see how Westhaven’s property runs with Crestwood’s along the boundary line near that large meadow. Do you know the place?”
Oh Lord! How well I know it.
“Er… yes, Your Grace, but I…”
Hal quickly chimed in with a confirmation. “Delighted to be of service, Weston. Help anyway we can until you learn the lay of the land. Right, Caroline?”
“But, Hal,” she said, turning to her brother who had joined her and Antonio. Gamely, she voiced her protest. “You know Father and Richard…”
“Would be happy to see you out and about after that dreary six months of mourning,” Hal proclaimed loud enough, then turned to Caroline’s stepson. “Ain’t that so, Randall?”
“It’s past five months since my father’s accident,” he answered. “I gave Minerva permission to come out of deep mourning just recently and no disrespect meant to my father. Knowing the kind of horseman my father was, he would not object to your riding, Caroline.” Richard’s son faced Caroline and signaled his agreement.
“You rode to hounds with my father when he was alive. You two were named a reckless pair as I recall, Caroline. Always in the front of the pack while chasing the fox.” Randall Lockler’s smile looked sadly reminiscent when he continued. “My father told me how much you loved to hunt as well as he did.”
Caroline wished Randall hadn’t run off at the mouth so. Or Hal, either. Now she could think of no excuse to cry off the duke’s invitation.
Antonio glanced over at Caroline, eliciting a reply from her with a quizzical eyebrow.
“What do you say, Senora?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps,” Antonio continued, “you can show my sister how to attain a proper seat on the sidesaddle. I’m afraid her early training precluded its use.” He made no explanation to the general gathering. Running his encompassing gaze around the group, he spread a smile over them and said, “Well then, I believe we must be on our way.”
Antonio and Briella offered adios to the rest of the guests.
“Until tomorrow, Senora Lockler.” He bowed and took Caroline’s hand a second time. She dipped a hurried curtsy. Hal accompanied the guests of honor to the door, discussing tomorrow’s outing. The other guests soon departed for various estates while the brilliance of the full moon still lit their way home.
* * * *
Antonio was silent and deep in thought when he and Briella entered the carriage and started toward Westhaven Hall after the supper party. Caroline Lockler had stunned him with her unexpected loveliness. He’d expected Hal’s sister to be a mediocre-looking female in her early twenties, bland of face and form, not a winsome eyeful that had his blood heating almost immediately.
The minor shock was definitely sexual attraction—something new and stimulating. He’d learned early about beauteous, young widows eager for a new man to step into their husband’s shoes if only for a brief, uninvolved fling. Most widows coming out of mourning—and some married women, too—displayed a certain look, a way of proclaiming their attitude when meeting a new man. When sexual appeal and a tantalizing nimbus wrapped around them and exuded a neediness after being deprived of enjoyment by an uncaring or deceased husband, Antonio was always willing to accommodate them. Somehow, he sensed a different glow around Caroline Lockler, without a certain earthy carnality. He was told she’d been married, was a widow, and therefore, couldn’t be naïve. Was she, instead, a cold fish?
Hal had almost forced his sister to ride out with him and Briella. Antonio’s excuse was meant to discover more about Caroline. He offered the invitation because of her puzzling reaction to him.
Letting go of his own jumbled musing and realizing Briella was too excited about her first dress-up party to remain silent, Antonio focused his attention on his sister’s lively chatter.
Chapter 5
Caroline stared up at the shadows of the canopy hovering over her bed. She tossed and turned from side to side, unable to sleep. Lying there with nothing but the glowing embers in the fireplace to brighten her chamber, she reviewed her encounter with Antonio Thorndyke.
Admittedly, he provoked her. She had felt hot and prickly—uncomfortable and too aware of him when he was in the same room. Was that why he rattled her so?
Sitting at the far end of the dinner table from him, thinking about him and trying to control her emotions was difficult when her heart still pulsed with unruly palpitations. She remembered the jolt she had felt when she had turned and seen him in the doorway. Good Lord! He was so devastatingly dark and handsome. And looked as dangerous and haughty, as well.
Meeting his eyes, those bottomless pupils obscuring what he was thinking, was as treacherous as being lost in a moonless thicket. Turning on her side, Caroline pulled the bedcovers higher under her chin as if they’d protect her from being entrapped by his aura. An unconscious shiver coursed through her.
Her come out wasn’t unusual. During her aborted debut, several men had danced attendance on her. None had sparked romantic stirrings in her—at least not like the ones that sizzled through her when Antonio touched her hand. She wondered if he’d noticed when she’d jerked away. Or was she the only one who felt the chemistry between them and had imagined the entire episode? But then she remembered his staring, and the hairs on her arms prickled. Sensing the aura flaming deep in his masculine core, she’d felt his pronounced ego reaching out to capture and dominate hers.
I'm too interested in the Spaniard, she chided herself. I must stop this nonsensical daydreaming. Not tomorrow, but now.
She had noticed his charm enthralling even the older and wiser Templeton and D’Arcy ladies. He’d made charming small talk with them, and she had listened to the rapturous comments they made to one another in the drawing room before the men rejoined them. What compelling aphrodisiac did the devilish man give off? Caroline knew she had responded to his masculinity, too, but never had she responded to a man like this. Now she was imagining what it would be like to have him touch more than her hand. Caress her hair, perhaps, her cheek, or take her lips in a searing kiss.
Perdition! Enough was enough!
Heat radiat
ed to her cheeks in the semi-darkness. Although she and Richard had married before her father’s demise, her new husband had never demanded his conjugal rights, not like some men might have. If he entered her bedchamber at night, it was to talk, comfort, even embrace her as if she were his daughter. Richard had always returned to his own room without consummating their wedding vows. Therefore, Caroline’s maidenhead was untouched when a rough tumble from his horse in a foxhunt had broken her husband’s neck and subsequently, ended his life.
* * * *
Hal came down the central staircase, his leather heels clicking on each step with a jaunty rhythm. Seated at the breakfast table, Caroline noted Hal had taken special care with his dress. The dark brown riding coat smoothed over his shoulders without a wrinkle, needing no extra padding to broaden them. He wore a white lawn shirt and a cream-colored waistcoat underneath. Skintight buckskin breeches disappeared into highly polished top boots.
Caroline thought her brother looked especially dashing today and told him so. “You make a handsome picture this morning, Hal,” she said. His carefully brushed reddish hair was sleeked by a touch of pomade to tame its curl. “Is there something special about today’s outing?”
Her brother colored slightly. “No, not really. But…by Jove, Caro, what did you think of the chit’s metamorphosis from moth to butterfly? I could scarcely believe my eyes. Gadzooks, she’s a stunner.”
“Am I correct, brother? By the chit, do you mean Lady Briella?”
“Yes, yes, of course. To whom else would I be referring?”
Caroline’s lips twitched in a mischievous half-smile. “Umm…you did seem to dance attendance on her after supper. Was that why you jumped so quickly to accept the duke’s invitation?”
“Why not, Caro? I have good reason to rekindle my friendship with Antonio. And I see no reason why you can’t take Briella…er…Lady Briella under your wing. I’m sure she could use a female friend close by. What say you?”
“I hear they are leaving for London in a few weeks, Hal. Sara D’Arcy mentioned that their grandmother is expected at Westhaven to assist the duke’s sister with her come out. I doubt if Lady Briella will have time to spare.”
Caroline paused, chewing on a forkful of shirred eggs and crisp bacon, then swallowing and touching her lips with a serviette before continuing. “I suppose the duke will be in London to support his sister’s come out, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, Antonio mentioned that he would. Might very well go to Town for a few weeks m’self.” Hal smiled, trying to look nonchalant. “Like to get together with some old classmates. Been awhile y’know, Caro.”
Caroline grinned knowingly.
“Jesu, Caro, it’s good to see you smile.” Hal studied his sister’s face thoughtfully. “I know you’re ragging me, but beat it all, it lifts my spirits to see you coming about. I believe I was right to force you to hostess for me.”
With that, Hal quickly rose and rounding the table, he bent down and grasped Caroline’s chin between a blunt thumb and finger, kissing her lightly on the cheek. A pleased expression sparkled in his blue eyes when he said, “I hope to heaven you’ll have a bit more of happiness very soon.”
Hal darted a quick look at his pocket watch. “Well, now, come along, Caro. We don’t want to keep the duke and Lady Briella waiting. I asked William to saddle Mischief. You can’t ride Demon when the duke’s along. Can’t sit that beast on a sidesaddle anyways,” he muttered. In the hall, Hal gathered up his hat, gloves, and crop from Ripley and left for the stables.
* * * *
All four nobles met at the side of a small stream that cut through Westhaven property at half past eight. Antonio had brought two grooms, Luis and Tomas, along. The riders from Westhaven were mounted on the blooded stock of which James Thorndyke had been so proud.
Caroline recognized Challenger, the bay stallion Antonio rode. She was amazed by the duke’s informal dress. She’d never see anyone wearing his riding clothes. He wore black leather trousers topped by a crisp, white shirt open at the neck. The abbreviated, waist length jacket’s sleeves and front opening were embellished with metal. What she assumed was polished silver reflected the sun’s rays, flashing like busy fireflies and winking on an off above the grass of the open meadow.
Combed back, his straight, black hair, defined by a widow’s peak, gleamed in the warm, spring sunshine. A flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hat hung down his back from a leather thong around his neck. High boots reached to his knees. Spurs with large rowels were strapped to his heels.
He exuded an aristocratic persona of a Spanish Grandee—exotic, arrogant, intimidating, and very impressive. More so than an English duke. Caroline admitted the Spaniard was stunningly handsome last night. In native dress this morning, Antonio was electrifying. Caroline tried not to stare, but the longer she allowed her gaze to fix on him, the more beguiled she became. She saw he rode with the excellent seat of a beautifully-trained equestrian, noting his relaxed, straight-backed carriage and sleek physique. Avoiding his eyes, she was determined not to let her admiration show.
After brief greetings, the riders started toward the south meadow. Antonio appeared totally engrossed in conversation with Hal when the men trotted ahead, taking the lead. Caroline ranged her gray mare, Mischief, next to Briella. Hal had aimed his sister a slightly annoyed look, but she teasingly smiled back at him. The Spanish grooms rode behind Briella and Caroline at a polite distance.
The arrangement left Caroline time to get better acquainted with Briella.
“Dios, Lady Caroline,” Briella began. “How I despise this contraption in which you English ladies ride. I don’t think I shall ever get used to it.”
“What then, Lady Briella?” Caroline asked. “Didn’t you ride in Spain?”
“Ah, si, si. But not on this maldito saddle!” she grumbled. Watching her frowning expression, Caroline understood Briella’s expletive although she spoke no Spanish. “I rode Classical Style—astride—like my brother and uncles. But I’m told by Antonio and my parents I can no longer do so here in England.”
“You rode astride!” Caroline blurted.
“Si, and in breeches, not wearing this confounded pile of cumbersome cloth you call a riding habit.” Briella grasped a handful of fabric and waggled it in front of her lap.
Caroline laughed; she couldn’t help herself. Briella was vehement in her distaste of the sidesaddle. The demure lady introduced to everyone last night was not quite what her brother claimed her to be. The childish hoyden Caroline recalled hadn’t completely disappeared. And here, Hal was worried that Antonio would be shocked if he found her, Caroline, astride when instead, the duke’s sibling rode that way before coming to England.
Caroline hid a smile, certain that the aristocratic members of London’s ton were in for some surprises when Briella Thorndyke came to Town. Oh, how she wished she could observe this tempestuous lady in action. Eyebrows would fly skyward at the outspoken, brash ways of this newcomer. With Briella’s vivaciousness and startling, dark beauty, Caroline wagered Antonio would have his hands full keeping an eye on his young sister.
Caroline observed Briella more closely as they rode side by side. The girl wore the usual style English riding outfit, however, the dark blue fabric was trimmed with silver, its buttons echoing her brother’s jacket. The woolen cloth clung to every curve of Briella’s slim frame. She sat with elegant ease upon the sidesaddle although she may hate it. Caroline noticed the tack Briella rode was designed more than two hundred years ago.
Then she remembered why—Lorena, James’s duchess, preferred to drive. Evidently, her husband hadn‘t felt the need to purchase a new sidesaddle for a wife who never rode horseback.
“Lady Briella,” Caroline began, opening the conversation once again.
Briella reined in briefly, holding up a gloved palm. “Please, if you will. Call me Briella. I am unused to such formality.”
“Then, I will do so, Briella, if you will call me Caroline.”
“Si, si,
I like that much better. Caroline.” When Briella smiled, her entire face lit up. Caroline remembered that open smile from years before when they had met as youngsters.
“I want to mention something to you, Briella. A new type of sidesaddle was invented fairly recently. A French riding master, Monsieur Jules Pellier, designed it. See? I ride one. It offers a much firmer and safer seat. Can you tell how it differs from yours?”
Since the group was now proceeding at a brisk walk, Briella had an opportunity to compare her saddle with Caroline’s. “Si, I see the difference. How is that better, Caroline?”
“The pommel here on my left is called a ‘leaping head.’ It allows me to jump stone walls and fences with the same aplomb and security as riding astride across country during a hunt.”
“Dios mio! I must have one! Will you instruct my brother on how he can purchase one for me?”
“Of course. And if it arrives before you leave for London, I shall show you how to sit in it more comfortably if you so desire.”
“Bueno, bueno,” Briella replied eagerly. “That makes me very happy. Gracias, Caroline.” Briella paused then continued, expressing candid sincerity. “This is a new and strange country for me. Everything is so different, and I am afraid I shall make many mistakes. But I hope you and I will become amigas, good friends, Caroline.” The girl’s words carried a ring of truth.
“I know we shall, Briella.”
The men had mounted a small rise and halted their horses. It was the spot where Antonio first spied the rider on the black horse. He pointed it out to Hal.
“I was riding one of my Andalusians, Hal,” he explained. “The Spanish horse does not have the speed of your Thoroughbreds so I was unable to intercept him.”
The Reluctant Duke Page 4