Wicked Rivals
Page 12
“She?” Rosalind stared the initials on the book. “How do you know it’s a woman?”
Ashton came around the table and joined her at the shelf, pulling the volume out.
“Two things lead me to that conclusion. Using initials is a well-known way of hiding one’s gender, but more importantly, the phrasing and the characters are telling. They seem, well, far too accurate in depicting the feminine mind. No man could ever possess that much insight. It would surprise me very much if it weren’t a woman. Here, you must give it a try.”
He handed her the book, and she didn’t refuse it. If she was to remain here a week, she would enjoy something to read.
“Now, come see these plans.” He put an arm around her waist and tugged her closer to the writing table. “I had these drawn up a few months ago for additional houses on other parts of my estate. It was fortunate because these same designs should work for rebuilding Maple’s and Higgins’s houses.”
He spread out a set of drawings and weighed them down with glass paperweights that glinted in the sun. Rosalind stared at the drawings, assessing the number of rooms, the placement of them, and the way the house was constructed.
“Should the kitchens be a little larger? These are families and will need more space than you have allotted. A woman needs plenty of counters and cupboards in her kitchen. I’m not sure what you had intended for the other houses, but a house should engender itself to the creation of a family, which provides your lands with more hands to work once the children are older.”
He eyed the plans critically, and to her surprise he conceded. “You’re quite right. What else?”
For the next half hour, they discussed the houses at length, with Rosalind adding space to the rooms, explaining that the children would need enough room to separate the boys from the girls for privacy and the need for the addition of proper barns and a stable for domestic animals. When Ashton was satisfied with the changes, he wrote down some notes and summoned a footman to take the old plans back to his architect in London and have a new set drawn up with the changes.
As he escorted her out of the office, he was grinning like a lad. “See? I’m smiling.”
“Dare I ask why?” Nerves fluttered her belly, but she was excited too.
He gently tucked her arm in his and bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Because that is one of the two conversations in the last day where we have not quarreled. Imagine how it would be if we were actually married.”
She stopped short. “Why are you so interested in marrying me? You have control of everything of mine already.”
Ashton shook his head. “I admit that my initial interest was taking control of your property. But I’ve given it a great deal of thought. You have a keen mind. With our forces combined, we could own all of London. Think of it!”
She had, but she didn’t trust him. Once he had her property and her money, there would be nothing she could do to reclaim herself. With the stroke of a pen on a marriage license, he’d strip her of her security and her identity.
It would be like living with her father all over again, only this man would have even more power over her. He would be her husband. She couldn’t flee in the middle of the night; he would have her life caught in an iron fist. Wives were no better than a man’s livestock, and it was well within his rights to beat, starve or do anything he wished to his wife. What sort of torture would Ashton visit upon her if she ever displeased him? Henry had always left her enough control that she’d never felt helpless, but she knew Ashton was a different sort of man. She would choose death over such a fate.
“What’s the matter? You’re shaking.” Ashton was peering down at her. Rosalind was mortified to realize she was shaking.
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure why she apologized but she did.
Ashton curled his arms around her back and cocooned her. She was shaking too hard to fight the warm embrace and buried her head against his chest. He smelled like pine forests and a hint of sandalwood. It was an addictive sort of smell, one she could get used to and even crave when she was without it.
“Talk to me, Rosalind. I don’t have any desire to frighten you.”
It took a long while for her to find her breath again. She wiped at her eyes. “Please, I don’t wish to discuss this. May we go?”
Ashton cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You can’t run away every time. Someday you will have to talk to me.”
Not when I finally escape this madness. The thought tasted bitter, but it was the truth. She was trapped here for a week, putting on a show for his mother’s benefit. But once the week was up, she would return to London whether he wished her to or not.
He sighed, and his look of disappointment cut her in unexpected ways.
“Very well. I trust you can ride in that gown?”
“Yes, if I go astride.”
His half smile returned. “And allow me to glimpse your legs? Then I have yet one more reason to smile.”
They left for the stables, and inside she found the comforting scents of horses, hay and leather—just the sort of thing to make all her worries evaporate. It was going to be a lovely day, and she would not let any emotional storm clouds dampen her spirits.
“Let’s see, perhaps you should take my favorite mare? She’s a lovely creature.” Ashton led her to a stall where a strong but beautiful white and gray dappled horse was nudging her oats bucket and huffing.
“She’s lovely.” Rosalind meant it. She adored horses. “What’s her name?”
Ashton stroked his palm down the horse’s nose, smiling indulgently as he fed her a few chestnuts from his pocket.
“Milady. Nothing else seemed to fit her. Even when she was a foal, she pranced about the paddock like a proper lady.” He rested his forehead against Milady and patted her face.
“And who will you ride?”
Ashton pointed to an inquisitive-looking gelding that was entirely black except for his white socks. “Prince.”
Ashton had a groom prepare the two horses. While they waited she had a chance to admire the fine stables. She was lulled into a sense of peace at the scent of fresh hay, the whicker and snorts of the other horses who peered curiously out of their stalls at her and Ashton.
“Your stables are beautiful,” she said, stroking a fingertip along a gleaming blue painted stall door.
“Thank you. I take great pride in my horses and want them to have only the best.”
“The horses are ready, my lord,” the groom announced as he led both beasts, one on either side, out into the stable yard.
“Thank you. Rosalind?” Ashton took her arm and led her toward the horses.
Then he lifted Rosalind up onto the saddle. She lifted her skirts and settled onto Milady’s back. Ashton mounted Prince and then turned his horse toward hers.
“Up for a race across the field?” he asked.
“Perhaps. I assume you have terms in mind for the winner?”
“Naturally.”
She kicked her heels to urge Milady closer to Prince.
“What are they?” She was almost afraid to ask him. He’d likely take whatever else she still possessed that he had not yet ripped from her. Still…she couldn’t resist a challenge when it came from him.
With an arrogant grin, he tossed his hair out of his eyes. “A kiss if I win.”
“And if I win?” She arched a brow.
“You don’t want to kiss me?” he teased, wriggling his eyebrows.
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed at such a transparent ploy. “I do not think so. If I win, you must apologize to me for the last few days.”
He sobered. “I’m willing to do that now.”
His sincerity shocked her, but she was hardly going to make it easy for him. “Then perhaps I’ll only require you to apologize on your knees if you lose, instead of on your belly.” She stroked Milady’s neck.
Ashton studied her, and then with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he kicked his horse and shot off across the field.
She was laughing as she started to gain on Ashton. He did not look back until they were a few feet from being neck and neck. He leaned down over his horse and started to stretch Prince’s stride, regaining his lead.
“No!” She kicked her horse harder, but it was no use. The gelding had more speed.
Ashton raced across the small dirt road where a crumbling burned ruin of a house stood. In an effortless move, he slid off his horse and caught her reins as she pulled back to stop Milady.
“You…” she panted. “Cheated.”
“Not true. I allowed you to catch up, after all. But I had a faster horse. I admit that readily.”
“Oh!” She leapt off her horse to tackle him. He caught her, and she slammed her balled fists against his chest.
“Easy, my little hellion, let me have my kiss…”
“If you think I’ll honor a wager that you—”
Her dozens of planned curses were silenced by Ashton’s lips. He captured her wrists, holding them behind her back with one of his hands. She struggled a moment, but only a moment. Being held prisoner in his arms sent a wild thrill through her. Her skin burned as his lips plundered hers. It was easy to lose herself in this man’s kiss. He nipped her bottom lip and she gasped, strangely flushed with primal heat at the sting of his bite. She struggled in his hold again, but he only laughed huskily.
“Steady on, darling. This is not something you are in control of. Not this time.”
She relented and let him take over. Hidden in his words was a promise of a next time in which she would be in control.
Ashton kissed like a dream. She’d never taken lovers after Henry died, and yet she knew if she’d had them to compare to this, this baron would still come out on top. It was the way he kissed, as if he had all day to explore her. There was not a hint of haste. Just slow, deliberate passion, potent and drugging. She fell harder against his chest. Suddenly her hands were free and she curled her arms around his neck, dragging him closer to her.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered in her ear before he kissed a path from her ear to her throat.
The feel of his lips, hot and soft on her sensitive skin, sent shivers rippling through her.
“Stop?” she echoed through the rising haze of hunger.
“Yes,” he answered with a throaty chuckle. “Shall I keep kissing you or not?”
“Keep…” She dug her hands into the long strands of his hair. “Kissing me.”
Rosalind gasped as they toppled to the ground. She fell on a sea of gilded grass, with Ashton on top of her. She instinctively tried to part her thighs, but her skirts were in the way.
“My skirts.” She moaned as he kissed her collarbone and nuzzled the swell of her breasts.
“Right.” He dug at her thick skirts and petticoats, pushing them up to her thighs. She threw her head back as his palms slid up her legs and between her underpinnings. He stroked her with a fingertip before slipping it inside her. She jolted and clutched his shoulders.
The blue sky above her seemed to stretch on forever as she stared at the cloudless expanse. Ashton rose above her, blocking out the sun as he continued to slide his finger in and out of her. The invasion was gentle but insistent, and she trembled at the building tension. Only he had ever made her feel so wild and reckless, as though all her worries and fears had faded when he touched her.
“You belong to me, Rosalind. Do you understand?” He moved his hand faster and his thumb found the sensitive bud on her mound that made her cry out sharply when he pressed on it.
“No,” she panted. She did not belong to any man—her life was her own.
Ashton’s blue eyes were so like the sky above, but intensified with an inner fire.
“You are mine. And I care for what’s mine. I pleasure what’s mine.” He relented in his tender seduction only a moment, and she wriggled in frustration, wanting him to keep touching her, yet fighting what accepting it would mean.
“Not yours.” Still she resisted, but his lips curved into an irresistible grin.
“Deny it all you like, but I own you, Lady Melbourne.” He emphasized her title, and she clawed at his back.
“Please…” She needed him to finish what he’d started, but not like this. Not on these terms.
“Say it or I walk away.” His hair fell across his eyes, and the shadow of a faint beard made him more of a rakish pirate than the business-minded gentleman he showed the ton back in London. It was as though she could see back into time a few hundred years and see Ashton’s ancestors raiding the English coast. Tall, blond-headed warriors who took whatever they wished at any cost. It was both frightening and exciting. Her skin heated and her nipples hardened beneath her gown at the thought of him taking her right there in the grass. There would be no one to stop them from getting carried away.
Do I yield or resist?
He pursed his lips and sat back on his heels, pulling her skirts back down.
“But—” She needed him to keep touching her. He couldn’t just stop…
“Until you can answer yes without hesitation, I won’t be rewarding you.” He stood and brushed off the grass from his clothes, then caught her waist and lifted her to her feet. His eyes were fierce with a determination to deny her what she wanted most in that moment. To be back in the grass with him. But no, he was paying her back for when she had left him spent in the opera house from her own gentle ministrations. He’d caught her fairly in a trap she’d walked right into. Damned Sassenach!
“You are no gentleman!” She huffed, her body still humming with need and frustration.
His booming laugh set her teeth on edge. “My dear, I just stopped myself from tupping you right here in a field. I believe that actually proves me a gentleman. If I had no control, your dress would be ruined with grass stains because I would have taken you as hard and as savagely as we both wanted. But you stopped me. Remember that. You wouldn’t say what I wished to hear.”
“What you wish to hear I cannot give. To you it’s just a game, but not to me.”
He plucked at the ends of his shirtsleeves, fixing his appearance, and Rosalind hissed beneath her breath like an angry cat.
“I’ve got to work to do. Would you take the horses somewhere close by and tether them?” He turned his back on her, and she had the sense she’d disappointed him, which infuriated her because she didn’t need to please him. She did not belong to him.
Still, a little place deep inside her kept asking that simple, dangerous question.
What if?
Chapter Eleven
“You’re serious about this marriage business?” Charles asked as he, Jonathan and Ashton lifted yet another charred beam away from the foundations where the Higgins farmhouse had once been. They set the beam in the back of a large cart. Several other men from the village and surrounding lands were busy assisting in the clearing away of the destroyed houses.
“Yes, I am.” Ashton paused to wipe his sleeve across his brow. It was too damned hot for this sort of work. If anything, he should be supervising the others. It was not fitting for a man of his station to perform manual labor, but he could not sit idly by, not when he was flooded with frustrated sexual energy. If he couldn’t take Rosalind to bed, he needed to use that pent-up passion for something productive.
“But why?” Charles repeated. “I thought you swore off marriage.”
“It’s complicated, Charles. Mother is pushing me to marry for Joanna’s sake, and I am tired of fighting her. If she believes Rosalind and I are courting, it will buy me some time.”
“But pretending to court is different than actually courting her. I thought you said this would be a ruse and nothing more.” Charles was frowning at this point.
“Well, that had been my original desire, but t
he more I think of it, if I could marry her it would be profitable in more ways than one.”
“Marrying for profit? But is that…” Jonathan let his words die as he too frowned.
“Mercenary is the word you’re looking for,” Charles added.
Ashton didn’t deny it. It was indeed mercenary in nature, but given how the last day had gone, he’d begun to feel that things could get better, perhaps even pleasurable if they ended up marrying. Of course, she couldn’t learn his real intention was to take this ruse and turn it into reality.
“I need to hold control over Rosalind’s companies until I can learn to what ends Hugo has been using her. Furthermore, if I control her assets, nothing can happen without my knowledge.”
“Yes, but you’ve been doing all that without throwing in this marriage nonsense,” said Charles.
“I have been considering marriage to her for a few days now, and after last night, I feel obligated to do so, and not just because I want to control her property. The poor creature needs looking after.”
No matter how strong a woman like Rosalind was, she needed to be protected, cared for. And given her tragic past, she deserved a bit of spoiling, too. Once she stopped being so bloody resistant to his romantic overtures, he could give her the world and anything else she might wish.
Jonathan laughed. “Needs looking after? You make it sound like pity. The woman I met doesn’t seem to need that.”
Charles seemed to agree. “She was doing well enough on her own, even besting you at your own game, until you decided to overreact and try to ruin her.”
Growling under his breath, Ashton shot a glower at his friends. “You’ve never complained of my methods before when it’s a man involved.”
“But she’s not a man,” Jonathan pointed out. “And as far as I know you’ve never taken such extreme measures with your other competitors.”
Ashton realized the truth in Jonathan’s words. “Yes, well, it’s my damned fault I went too far. I’m doing my best to remedy the situation and make amends in what way I can.”