Blaze sucked in her breath. A chill shook her body, but where he touched her burned.
Ross drew her gown down to her waist, her thighs, her ankles. The he pulled his shirt off and tossed it over his shoulder.
Blaze stared at his muscled chest with its mat of black hair. Lifting a hand, she caressed it with her palm. His hair was coarse, and his muscles rippled beneath her touch.
“Yer touch excites me,” he whispered, “but I’ve been longin’ to see yer breasts.”
Ross pushed the straps of her chemise off her shoulders and slid the garment down, exposing her breasts. She wore stockings with garters, and her mane of red hair cascaded around her.
She was a pagan goddess. No woman had ever looked more enticing.
“Ye’ve perfect breasts and dusky pink nipples.” Desire made his voice hoarse. “Ye canna imagine how long I’ve wanted to admire these beauties.”
Her body trembled at his words, her thighs quivered, and the throbbing between her legs quickened. She felt wanton and powerful, his words an aphrodisiac to her senses.
Using one finger, Ross circled each breast, starting around the outside and spiraling closer and closer to the center. Then he touched the tip of each jutting nipple.
Blaze gasped in surprised pleasure. She liked his hands on her body.
“Yer nipples are sensitive.” Ross dipped his head, and his tongue teased the tips of her nipples.
Blaze moaned in pleasure. She held his head against her breasts, savoring his lips and tongue on her.
And then he stopped.
Ross rose up on his elbows, planted a kiss on her mouth, and left the bed. Clad only in black breeches, he crossed the chamber to the bureau and poured a measure of whisky into a glass. He belted it down in one gulp, heedless of the sacrilege against the aged amber liquid.
His damn conscience was bothering him. He had never coerced a woman into his bed and refused to start with his bride-to-be. She had come to the lodge unwillingly, but she must remain willingly.
Besides his conscience, his peace of mind was in jeopardy. Once they’d married, his bride would remind him of blackmailing her each time they argued. Forty years of listening to her toss that in his face was not worth one night of misbegotten pleasure.
“Is that all?” Blaze asked from the bed. “Did I do something wrong?”
Ross heard the bewilderment in her voice. He set the glass on the bureau and turned around. She was holding the coverlet close to her breasts.
“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” he assured her. “If ye get dressed, I’ll take ye home.”
“You’re not blackmailing me?” she asked, her confusion apparent.
“I want ye willin’ or not at all.”
“I worried all day for nothing?” She sounded irritated.
“I’m givin’ ye a choice,” Ross said. “Will ye stay or go?”
Blaze frowned at this unexpected complication. His offer removed the only reason she could bed him without feeling guilty. Now the damn Scotsman was forcing her to admit her feelings for him, and that could lead to something she didn’t want. Marriage. On the other hand, where was the danger in one night of pleasure?
And then she smiled at him. “Come to bed.”
Ross needed no second invitation. He pulled his breeches off and crossed the chamber to the bed. Then he drew her to her knees and held her tight against his muscular frame. Their bodies touched from breast to thigh, his smoldering kiss possessive.
Laying her back on the bed, Ross sprinkled dozens of feathery-light kisses across her eyelids, temples, and throat before returning to her lips. Her lilac scent, her silken heat, her throaty purr aroused him like no other lover.
Blaze looped her arms around his neck and surrendered to his kiss, willing to follow wherever he would lead her. She savored the sensation of his powerful, naked frame pressing her down on the bed.
Ross kissed her hungrily, and she returned his kiss in kind. Melting against him, her young body awakened to a primal instinct to mate with him. A pulsing urgency spurred her on, demanding she become one with him.
“Yer wet for me,” he murmured, “but I need to prepare ye.”
Ross pushed one long finger inside her, her body instinctively shrinking back against the bed. Blaze felt a burning sensation as his finger pushed deeper. He caressed her wet, silken interior and then inserted a second finger.
Blaze felt vulnerable to his desire. She had never imagined this sensation of being filled. And then he withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and disappointed.
Spreading her thighs, Ross positioned himself but paused to capture her mouth in a soul-stealing kiss. He thrust forward in one powerful but kind movement, breaking her virgin’s barrier.
Blaze gasped once and then lay still, slight panting her only movement. Ross remained motionless, allowing her to accustom herself to the feel of him inside her.
“Are ye with me lass?” He sounded breathless.
“Yes.” And so did she.
He moved then, slowly at first and gradually increasing his tempo. Catching his rhythm, she moved with him, meeting his thrusts.
“Ross,” she moaned, waves of throbbing pleasure washing over her.
He groaned and shuddered, his seed flooding her. Unable to move, he dropped his head against her breast.
Their labored breathing was the only sound in the room while they floated from the heights of paradise to the reality of the lodge. Recovering first, Ross rolled to the side, pulling her with him.
“Yer everythin’ a man could want.” Ross planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “Next time will be even better.”
Surprised by his remark, Blaze lifted her gaze to his. “I wasn’t planning on a next time.”
“Yer plans have changed, darlin’.” He gave her an easy smile.
Now Blaze understood the temptation her mother had faced with her father. Gabrielle had succumbed to a handsome face, an easy smile, and persuasive words from a charming aristocrat. A penniless countess who had escaped the French Terror, her mother had never stood a chance against her father’s domineering personality or the security he offered.
Blaze had learned hard lessons from her mother’s misery. She was not her mother. She refused to become her mother. Love would never enslave her as it had her mother.
“There will be no next time,” Blaze said, sitting up. “I will not follow my mother’s path.”
“Yer in no danger of becomin’ yer mother,” Ross said. “Trust me on that.”
Trust me? So whispered the Serpent to Eve in Paradise.
Ross traced a finger down her cheek to her throat and her breasts. His touch hardened her traitorous nipples.
“Ye want me, darlin’.”
“Wanting does not mean having.”
His black gaze narrowed on her. “Yer more stubborn than a mule.”
“Thank you for the praise.”
Ross laughed at that and pulled her down on his chest. “Let’s argue aboot this tomorrow.”
They cuddled in sated silence for a long time, neither needing to fill the void with conversation. Ross slid the palms of his hands across her shoulders and down her back. Blaze snuggled against him, enjoying his hands on her.
“I met your stepsister in Newmarket,” Blaze said, watching his expression. “I don’t like her, and she doesn’t like me.”
“Amanda isna a bad sort,” Ross said, “but Celeste pushes the girl at me. I keep a room here at the lodge so the witch canna set a marriage trap for me.”
His words heartened Blaze, lessening her concern with the blonde. “Amanda is exceptionally pretty.”
“Any man who marries a woman because she’s pretty deserves the misery comin’ his way,” Ross told her, looking at her upturned face. “Beauty, titles, and wealth can be lost in an instant.”
“So you won’t marry a pretty girl?” That left the field open for her if she harbored the notion to marry, which she did not.
“I’ll marry a pretty lady if she
meets my requirements,” Ross answered. “I want a wife with a big heart who loves children and animals, and she must love me for myself. Not my title, my wealth, or my incredible beauty.”
Blaze smiled at that. “You forgot bossiness, arrogance, and conceit.”
“So I did.” Ross winked at her and then changed the subject. “Here’s my plan for the Jockey Club Ball. Save me the last dance of the evenin’, the last dance before supper, and, of course, sup with me.”
Uh-oh. “I am already engaged for supper,” Blaze told him.
He did not look pleased. “Get yourself unengaged.”
“I cannot accept Prince Lykos’s invitation one day and reject him the next,” she argued. “Society would frown on that bit of rudeness.”
“I dinna give a damn aboot Society.”
“My stepmother would not approve,” Blaze said, “and I will not hurt the prince’s feelings.”
“Rejectin’ his invitation willna kill the man,” Ross said. “Sharin’ supper isna a life-long commitment.”
“That is precisely my point,” she countered. “Next time invite me before the other two.”
“Two? Who’s the other one?”
“Thankfully, your stepbrother invited me after the prince.”
“Ye wouldna consider suppin’ with the bone sucker.” Ross hooted with laughter at the idea. “Have it yer way, lass, but consider yourself engaged with me for supper at every ball henceforth.”
“I will consider your invitation.” His easy capitulation bothered Blaze. She did not trust easy capitulations from pig-headed men. The marquis was planning something.
“So when did ye distance connect with Pegasus?”
“Yesterday—” The word slipped past her lips before she could stifle it. “One connection does not guarantee success. If I ride in the next race, Rooney and Peg will practice for six weeks.”
“That makes sense.”
“It does?” His easy agreement surprised her.
“Ye’ll jockey the First Spring,” Ross said, “and Rooney will jockey the other races. Dinna try wheedlin’ a third race out of me cuz I willna change my mind. If six weeks of practice doesna do the trick, Pegasus isna destined to win the big races.”
Ross rolled Blaze onto her back. “I want ye again,” he said, “but I willna abuse yer body tonight. Ye’ll be sore enough without a second helpin’.”
Blaze blushed at his words. Talking about doing was more embarrassing than the actual doing.
“Yer blushin’ again.” Ross smiled, amused by her sudden shyness, and rose from the bed. “I need to get ye home now.”
The ride from the lodge to Snailwell Road was still short and silent. Ross sat beside her this time, though, and their silence was relaxed instead of tense.
When they stood outside her back door, Ross cupped her chin and dipped his head to plant a chaste kiss on her lips. “Pleasant dreams, darlin’. Dinna forget practice at dawn.”
Ross waited until she bolted the door. Then he jogged to Snailwell Road where his man waited.
Climbing into the coach, Ross yawned and stretched his legs out. The evening had proven satisfying, his courtship progressing. The only glitch was that sneaky Russian who’d beaten him to the supper invitation. Her supping with the prince mattered little, though.
Blaze wanted him as much as he wanted her. Now he needed to persuade her into marriage.
The coach halted in front of the Rowley Lodge. Ross climbed out, calling to his man, “Tomorrow night, same time.”
Ross walked into the lodge’s common room, intending to seek his bed and enjoy the sleep of the sated. Blocking his path, Baron Edward Shores sat on the stairs but stood to confront him.
“Good evening, my lord,” the baron greeted him.
Ross groaned inwardly. He wanted his bed, not conversation with Crazy Eddie Shores, a man who profited from other men’s vices.
“I’m tired, Eddie,” Ross said. “Let me pass.”
“You do appear drained,” the baron said, “but I beg a moment to offer you a deal.”
“Speak yer piece and then step aside.”
“Give me five hundred pounds a week,” Eddie said, his voice low, “and I won’t tell Inverary you’re bedding his daughter.”
“Here’s the deal, Eddie.” In a flash of movement, Ross grabbed the baron’s throat and slammed him against the wall. “Keep yer mouth shut, and I’ll let ye live. Agreed?”
When the suffocating baron managed a slight nod, Ross dropped his hold on him. “A pleasure doin’ business with ye, Eddie.”
Chapter Nine
She felt different.
Bedding the marquis made her feel feminine but somehow vulnerable. She could live with feminine, but vulnerable reminded her of her mother.
The marquis had taken her innocence, initiating her into womanhood. She hadn’t planned to join those ranks until achieving her goals.
She was lying to herself. The truth was the marquis had taken nothing. She had given him her virginity, offering herself like a Christmas goose on the silver platter of his bed.
Losing her virginity was one of life’s milestones. Blaze wished she could have crossed that threshold under different circumstances.
She wasn’t doing as well as her mother. Gabrielle had bedded the man she loved, who’d loved her in return. She’d bedded a man who professed to wanting her.
Did she love the marquis? Or were her tender feelings a product of sharing intimacy and the secret of Pegasus?
If she did love the marquis, how could she hold his attention? Society was filled with dozens of hopeful maidens who wanted to marry a marquis, including the blond stepsister. And none of the hopefuls had made the mistake of sharing his bed.
Blaze wished she hadn’t scoffed at the duchess’s life lessons. After yesterday’s questions, her stepmother would become suspicious if she sought her advice. The woman was no fool.
Drowsy from lack of sleep, Blaze sat on the edge of the bed and dragged the black breeches up her legs. Then she donned her riding boots and slipped her arms into the leather jerkin. Without bothering to look in the mirror, she plaited her hair into one thick braid and hid it beneath a cap.
Blaze yawned and stretched before rising from her perch on the bed. Late nights and early mornings did not produce an alert person.
Curiosity got the better of her, and Blaze peered at herself in the cheval mirror. She looked the same—flame-haired, freckle-faced, flat-chested.
Blaze crossed the bedchamber and opened the door a crack, peering up and down the hallway. Satisfied the household slept, she walked toward the back stairs and exited the mansion through the rear door.
Passing the formal gardens, Blaze veered to the right and trudged across the dew-covered lawn to the path. The closer she got to the practice track, the slower her pace became.
Blaze conjured Ross’s image in her mind’s eye and replayed their evening. Again she felt the warmth of his smile, his hands and lips caressing her, his hardness moving inside.
Her body heated and her legs weakened. Reminiscing burned her skin.
Seeing Ross at the track worried her. Casual conversation and nonchalant behavior eluded her. Their shared intimacy should never have happened without benefit of marriage.
She would pretend nothing happened. A true gentleman would not refer to her downfall in any way. Gawd, she would die of embarrassment if he mentioned it.
Blaze reached the practice track, shrouded in ground-hugging fog. The three men were waiting for her.
Puddles barked in greeting and dashed toward her, giving her a moment to compose herself before facing the marquis. She gave her dog a hug and then ordered, “Stay.” The mastiff sat, but his tail swished back and forth across the grass.
Unable to delay any longer, Blaze walked toward the men. She viewed the marquis differently. He wore the usual working clothes—riding breeches, shirt, leather jerkin; she saw him naked—broad shoulders, muscled chest, perfect buttocks. She knew what the bulge in
his breeches hid.
“Good morning,” Blaze said, her cheeks pinkening, and walked past them to greet Pegasus.
She stroked the filly’s face. Love Peg.
Me love.
Peg run?
Run, run, run.
“The lady has a surprise for us,” Ross told the trainer and jockey.
Blaze walked to where the men stood. Avoiding the marquis’s gaze, she wondered when he had taken charge of her filly, her goals, her life.
“Are ye ready, darlin’?” Ross asked her.
Blaze snapped her gaze to his and nodded. She wished he would refrain from casual endearments in front of others, which diminished her authority as the horse’s owner.
Ross gave Rooney a leg up on Pegasus. Then he and Bender mounted their own horses.
“Give us a five-length lead,” Ross instructed the jockey, “and we’ll keep a hole between us.”
At the start line, Ross called to Bender, “One, two, three—go.”
Ross and Bender spurred their horses into action. Swishing and thudding, their horses galloped down track. When they were fifty feet from the line, Rooney and Peg gave chase.
Blaze kept her gaze fixed on the filly. She chanted inside her mind, her lips moving with a repetitive thought.
Peg through hole. Peg through hole. Peg through—
Pegasus shot through the hole between the two horses. Success.
The three men slowed their horses. Smiling, they rode back to where she stood.
“I’m relieved,” Bender said, dismounting. “I don’t have the nerves for subterfuge.”
“Peg’s the fastest horse I’ve ever seen,” Rooney said in obvious excitement. “I’ll take good care of her out there and promise to ride her to victory. Pegasus will become legend.”
“Blaze is jockeyin’ in the First Spring,” Ross told the men. “That gives Rooney and Peg six weeks to practice.”
“I know you’re disappointed,” Blaze said to Rooney. “You will jockey all the other races, which includes the Classics. You will ride Peg into legend.”
“Our luck held the first time,” Bender argued, “but we’ll get caught if we try again. Inverary will never believe I failed to recognize his daughter.”
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