Summer of Scandal

by Syrie James

  “I won’t peek.” His deep voice was tinged with amusement.

  Carefully raising her skirts, Madeleine placed her left foot into the stirrup and grabbed hold of the horn. In one swift movement, she swung her right leg up and over the steed, and seated herself on the saddle in gentlemanly fashion.

  “Are you decent?” Saunders asked.

  “Yes,” she answered after a flurry of adjustments. Her skirts were partially rucked up, and a portion of her petticoats and ankles were on display, but otherwise she felt reasonably respectable. “You may open your eyes now.”

  Saunders smiled as he gave her the reins. “Sit up straight. Keep your legs directly under your hips and in gentle contact with the horse’s body.” He gave her a few other brief instructions as to how to manage and direct the beast. Following his advice, Madeleine urged the horse forward at a walking pace. Tesla easily responded.

  “That’s it. I hope you are comfortable?”

  “As comfortable as can be expected.” The position felt strange at first, but Madeleine soon grew accustomed to it, discovering a greater sense of security and power than she ever had experienced riding sidesaddle.

  “I see you know your way around a horse,” Lord Saunders commented approvingly as he walked beside her, wiping rain from his brow with the back of his hand.

  “A child could ride at this pace,” Madeleine countered mischievously.

  “Oh?”

  “Just last week, I was galloping across the fields at Hatfield Park.” She didn’t know why she’d said that. In fact, when she’d ridden with Oakley, he’d insisted that they move at no greater pace than a tedious trot for safety’s sake.

  Saunders looked at her. “You galloped with Oakley?”

  She could hardly take it back now. “You sound surprised.”

  “He does not seem the galloping type to me. He was always a rather conservative fellow.” He seemed to be about to say something else when there was a crack of thunder, and suddenly the skies opened up with a pelting downpour.

  “Good God! Free the stirrup!” Saunders exclaimed urgently.

  She wasn’t sure what he intended by this, but did as ordered. No sooner had she removed her left foot from the stirrup than Saunders used it to boost himself up and onto the back of the horse, settling behind the saddle, with only the cantle between them.

  Madeleine had barely a second to be shocked.

  She had ridden double numerous times with Kathryn when they were children. But this was different. Completely different. Riding astride was improper enough. But riding double with a gentleman? What if anyone were to see?

  “Go!” he cried.

  There was no time to think. Rain was coming down in torrents now. Madeleine re-gripped the stirrup and nudged the horse forward into a canter.

  Lord Saunders’s arms slipped around her waist.

  The contact was so intimate and unexpected that Madeleine gasped. Riding was a matter of balance and she suspected that he, an experienced horseman, had no need to hold on to her at all. Or instead, and far more properly, he could have taken hold of the saddle. But the weight of his arms about her—and now, the press of his chest against her back—was so exhilarating, she had no wish for him to alter his position.

  “Do you like it?” His voice was a low rumble just behind her ear. His breath, warm and sweet against her neck, made her skin tingle.

  Madeleine’s heartbeat drummed in time with the horse’s hoofbeats. Strange new sensations flowed through her. She felt as if every vein and muscle in her body were quivering beneath her skin. “Do I like . . . what?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Riding astride.”

  Oh, that. “Yes.” The single whispered syllable was more a sigh than a word.

  “I thought you would.” She both felt and heard his answering chuckle. Then he said, “Faster.”

  Madeleine’s pulse raced in alarm. “That wouldn’t be safe.”

  “I trust you and Tesla.” His deep voice resonated though her. “You said you like to gallop, didn’t you?”

  It was true. She loved to gallop. But he had no saddle. Going any faster could put him at risk, and possibly the horse as well. She felt, however, as if a gauntlet had been thrown. They were being drowned by rain. When was the last time she had taken a real risk? Without further thought, she urged Tesla into a gallop.

  Charles tightened his grip around her trim waist, his heart seeming to pound as fast as the thundering hooves beneath them. They flew down the path in a volley of splattering water and mud, the deluge continuing with pummeling force.

  Suddenly, the wind snatched Miss Atherton’s hat, whipping it off of her head. Charles heard her gasp, saw the brief, regretful look in her eyes as she turned to watch it tumble to the beach far below, where it melded with the surging white waters that crashed upon the rocks.

  He could not regret the loss of the hat. It had exposed the nape of her neck. The delectable-looking skin below her hairline, which glistened with sparkling raindrops, now lay just inches from his mouth. So close that he could almost taste it. It was all he could do not to press his lips against that creamy, wet whiteness.

  Everything was so slippery wet. As they galloped along, his chest pressed firmly against her back, his legs nudged up against her own, their bodies were so closely entwined that, with the rocking motion of the horse beneath them, it was akin to making love.

  Desire spiraled through him. Charles felt himself grow hard. If he were to raise his hands just a few inches, he would be cupping her breasts. Oh how he yearned to cup her breasts. But no. That was unthinkable. He thrust the thought from his mind, trying not to think about another kind of thrusting he wished he was doing at that very moment.

  Being this close to her, holding her against him without being allowed to explore further, was a torment, but a kind of torment from which he wanted no reprieve. When they reached the path leading toward the Trevelyan grounds, Miss Atherton turned the horse inland.

  “Shall I go to the stables?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No,” he directed, “go straight to the house.”

  A few minutes more brought them to the back entrance to the manor house, under shelter of the rear portico. Charles was relieved to be out of the rain at last, yet at the same time, sorry that the ride was over—sorry to have no further excuse to hold her in his arms.

  Reluctantly, he released her and leapt down nimbly from the horse. Wiping his sodden brow with the back of one arm, he raised his hands to help her down.

  “I can manage,” she insisted. “Please look away.”

  Charles bit back a smile. After that ride in the rain, she was still so damned concerned about propriety? He dutifully averted his eyes, but hovered close in case she needed assistance.

  His heart still hammered in his chest. His breath was coming quick, and blood still ran thick and hot in his veins. He didn’t want to say good-bye, not yet. Not yet.

  He heard a rustling of skirts and petticoats as she lowered herself from the mount. When he heard her feet touch the ground, he turned and leaned in, pressing his hands against the saddle on either side of her, sandwiching her in between himself and the horse.

  She went still. Their eyes met. For a long moment they stood, unmoving, as close as if they were dancing a waltz. Although soaked to the bone, Charles felt strangely warm.

  “You see?” he intoned softly.

  “Do I see . . . what?” The tremor in her voice mirrored the riot of sensations coursing through him.

  Charles swallowed hard, struggling to keep his own voice even. “We were safe. Not a scratch on us.”

  She nodded silently.

  Rain pounded against the portico overhead and spattered against the nearby pavement. Her gaze seemed to be reluctant to leave his face, and he felt a similar reluctance. The glint in her blue eyes told him that she’d found their adventure as exciting as he had.

  His glance lowered to her lips and paused there. He realized that he wanted to kiss her. Wanted
it more than anything he’d wanted in . . . forever.

  Their mouths were only inches apart. All you have to do is lean in and press your lips to hers. He had the distinct impression that she wanted him to kiss her as well.

  But kissing her would be wrong for so many reasons.

  Don’t do it, a stern voice in his head commanded. The women he sometimes saw in London welcomed such caresses. Kissing them did not come with any promises or expectations. It was a means of experiencing mutual pleasure, a way to satisfy an itch, and nothing more.

  But one did not just go about kissing American heiresses. Not without the intention of a lifelong commitment, which under no circumstances was he willing or able to make. In any case, he reminded himself, Miss Atherton would never be interested in such an offer from him. She had her future set with Oakley, after all, who would make her a duchess.

  No matter how willing she appeared, at the moment, to indulge in a kiss with him in the rain.

  Madeleine waited with bated breath. Did he intend to kiss her? She had only kissed one man in her life. The kiss had been brief and chaste, a mere meeting of lips on a terrace at a ball in New York, and only memorable for being the first and only of its kind. She couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

  Lord Oakley had never even tried to kiss her. He was far too proper for that.

  Everyone knew that well-bred women didn’t kiss men until they were engaged.

  Even so, all her life, Madeleine had hungered to know what it felt like to be kissed. Really kissed.

  With sudden clarity, she realized she wanted Lord Saunders to kiss her. Their ride together had been . . . well, practically indecent. It was also the most exciting thing she’d ever experienced in her entire life. She suspected that a kiss from him would be equally as memorable. Even though, in a corner of her mind, she knew it would be wrong.

  To her disappointment, he inhaled sharply, lowered his arms, and took a step back. Was that disappointment she read on his face, as well?

  He seemed to be struggling to regain his composure, and at the same time searching for something to say. “You handled Tesla expertly,” he told her finally. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” Madeleine hoped he couldn’t detect her chagrin, or the fact that her hands were trembling slightly. She clasped them firmly together, adding, “He’s a wonderful animal. It was exciting to ride him. And chivalrous of you to let me.”

  “It seems to be my fate, Miss Atherton, to rescue you or your possessions from circumstances involving bodies of water or inclement weather.”

  She laughed at that, a laugh that mingled strangely with the rapid cadence of her own heart.

  “I regret, however,” he continued, “that I did not save you and your clothing from harm on this occasion, after all.”

  Madeleine had been so overwhelmed by the feelings enveloping her during that ride in the rain, she hadn’t given a thought to the extent of damage to her person. That damage didn’t become fully apparent until she caught sight of her ravaged reflection in a window of the house, which the dark afternoon had turned into a mirror.

  She looked like she’d fallen into a lake. Her dress and shoes were completely soaked, her hat was gone, and her hair was disheveled and halfway down. “Oh dear.” She laughed again.

  He ran his hands through his own sopping wet hair. For a brief interval they were overcome by merriment, the sound of their laughter echoing beneath the portico.

  At length, Madeleine caught her breath and said, “Thank you again, Lord Saunders, for bringing me home.” Even though the way you did it was positively scandalous.

  A quirk of his eyebrow, and the look in his eyes, suggested that he’d read what she’d left unsaid. “It was my pleasure, Miss Atherton. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return Tesla to the stables.” Leaping into the saddle, he trotted off without a backward glance.

  Madeleine watched him go, her heart still pounding as she recalled the way it had felt to sit astride the horse, Saunders’s arms wrapped around her as they charged through the mud. It was a sensation she would never forget.

  Just now, she’d been so ready for his kiss.

  As the realization of that settled, a stab of guilt chased through her. Madeleine! What has come over you? Why was she thinking about Lord Saunders like this, and pining for his kiss? It was a misplaced infatuation. And it was completely disloyal to Lord Oakley.

  Oakley had been a consummate gentleman since the moment they’d met. He would never have leapt up on the back of her horse or urged her to gallop together in such a dangerous, wanton manner. A future duke of the realm did not behave that way. Neither did an Atherton.

  Well, Madeleine told herself, it had been a moment of weakness. She had control over herself now.

  A movement at the edge of her field of vision caught Madeleine’s eye. In one of the rear windows, a curtain was fluttering. Madeleine’s breath caught in her throat.

  Awash with anxiety, she hurried inside the house. Had someone seen her and Lord Saunders riding up together, or observed them standing in such an intimate posture under the portico? If so, who? She hoped it wasn’t Lady Trevelyan. Or worse yet, Sophie. Madeleine shuddered to think of the pain such a thing would cause her new friend.

  As she crossed the rear foyer, Woodson suddenly appeared.

  “Miss Atherton.”

  “Woodson! Forgive me for dripping all over the floors. I was out walking and got caught in the rain.”

  “I suspected as much, when you . . . and Lord Saunders . . . did not return for tea.” The tiniest lift of one dark eyebrow, and the hint of a glimmer in his blue eyes, suggested that it was he who had noticed her and Saunders outside.

  Madeleine wondered how much Woodson had seen. It didn’t seem to matter, though. To her relief, she saw no censure in his gaze.

  “I had Bessie light a fire in your room,” Woodson went on, “and instructed Martin to lay out a set of clean, dry clothes for you. Shall I send her upstairs to help you dress?”

  “Yes, thank you, Woodson. You are a marvel.”

  “So my wife informs me, every day.”

  Madeleine glanced at him, surprised. “I didn’t realize you were married, Woodson.”

  “Martin and I have been wed these past five years.”

  “Martin? Why then doesn’t she have the same last name as you?”

  “By the time we married, she had been Martin to this family too long for them to learn a new name.”

  Madeleine laughed. “Well, she is a lucky woman.”

  “I am the lucky one, miss. By the way, this came for you, while you were out.” From a nearby table he retrieved a silver tray containing an envelope.

  Madeleine’s heart leapt when she saw the sender’s name. It was the letter she had been waiting for, from her sister. “Thank you, Woodson.”

  Madeleine ran upstairs and, after pausing only a moment to towel off her hair and face, sat down to read her newly arrived missive.

  Sydney Place, Bath

  June 24, 1889

  Dearest Maddie,

  I am just this minute in receipt of your letter, and have sat down to dash off a reply.

  What exciting news! I’m thrilled, but not surprised, to hear that Lord Oakley proposed. I have heard such good things about him from Thomas, who knows him from school. From everything you said in your last few letters, he does seem like the ideal partner for you. I can’t wait to hear more about him. I’d be honored to share any thoughts I have, if they’ll be of help to you in making this decision. I’m just sorry I wasn’t home to greet you! If only I had known, I would never have gone away. This trip to Bath was very last-minute. I did write to tell you, and am sorry my letter didn’t reach you in time.

  I haven’t felt myself the past few months—but what can you expect, I am carrying a child! Despite Dr. Hancock’s assurance that I am fine, Thomas insisted that I consult with a physician of note at Bath, a specialist who came highly recommended. Julia and Lillie were excited to go, and as I had
never been—and Dr. Hancock promised that taking the train would be no problem even at this stage in my pregnancy—we packed and off we went.

  Bath is truly a marvelous, well-planned city. All the buildings were elegantly designed over a hundred and fifty years ago, made of a lovely white stone that is fading over time to a golden hue. The Roman baths are fascinating, and the girls have gone slightly crazed with shopping. You must visit one day!

  I met with Dr. Andrews, who said I am in excellent condition, thank goodness. Even so, he recommended a series of treatments which have included daily baths and tonics. My last treatment is tomorrow. Now that I know you’re in Cornwall, wild horses couldn’t keep me away a minute longer than necessary. Thomas has agreed that we’ll leave the following morning, returning home Wednesday night. I’ll send a carriage for you on Thursday morning, shall we say 11 o’clock?

  No need to wire me a reply. Just send a message to Polperran House if you can, to let me know if that suits. I can hardly wait to see you!

  With all my love,

  Alexandra

  P.S. Don’t let Mother bully you. She is a tyrant! I’m on your side.

  Madeleine clutched the letter to her chest. Her sister’s words brought her such comfort, they were almost like a hug.

  She grabbed a piece of paper and dashed off a note to Alexandra, approving her plans for Thursday morning. Woodson would see to it that the note was delivered to Polperran House, waiting for Alexandra when she got home.

  As she laid down her pen, Madeleine let go a relieved sigh. The day after tomorrow, she would go to Polperran House. Thank goodness it was all settled. Not only because she was anxious to see her sister.

  Because every day she spent at Trevelyan Manor was another day that she might see Lord Saunders.

  A man who could set her heart racing with just a look or a smile. A man with whom she had just ridden double on horseback—astride, no less—and had wanted to kiss. A man who was very nearly engaged to a sweet young woman, whom Madeleine considered a friend.

  Thursday morning couldn’t come soon enough.