by Wilde, Tanya
She would not have thought him a dream when she awakened. She would have been shocked, even scared. He did not bother to look and see if her belongings were gone. They were. He pressed his palm deeper into the empty space beside him. Warmth still touched his skin. He sunk his face into her pillow and inhaled the lingering scent of her into his lungs.
Oranges.
He groaned and tossed back the sheets. She hadn’t been hysterical when she left. It appeared to be significant somehow. He wanted to find her. He wanted—no—needed to learn everything about her.
Yet, something nagged at him. Evelyn somehow seemed infinitely familiar… But hers was not a face he would forget.
He hoped her journey did not take her to London—the one place he swore he would never re-turn to. He hated the city and everything it represented. The crowds, the noise, the smell, the filth, the pettiness of the ton and the games they played.
He reached for his shirt when he noticed it was missing. Muscles rippled as he pushed away from the bed with a frown and strolled over to the chair where her gown lay rumpled on the floor. She had taken his shirt. If lions could grin he would have put them to shame. She wore his shirt. A predatory glint entered his eyes. It instantly made him hard. It was all he could do not to imagine her legs wrapped around his—
The door burst open.
If he’d been less of man he would have jumped out of his skin.
“What the hell—”
His head snapped up as Carleton, his groom, filled the doorway breathing heavily. Growling in irritation that the man had interrupted his thoughts of Evelyn, he snapped, “Don’t you ever knock?"
“Yes sir.”
“So get out and knock.”
Carleton didn’t move, ignoring his master’s command. “Sylvester has been stolen my lord,” he managed to croak, still trying to find his breath.
“What are you—”
“By a woman my lord,” he interrupted, uncaring of his master’s wrath. “Wore nothing but a shirt, saw it with me own eyes. Rode out of town like the devil himself nipped at her heels.”
Matthew blinked. A half-naked woman stole his horse? He snorted. Preposterous. “There are only two people in this world who can handle Sylvester, Carleton. A woman is not one of them,” he replied confidently.
“My lord—”
“It was not Sylvester that you saw.”
“She wore your shirt, my lord,” Carleton interrupted, yet again.
Matthew narrowed his eyes on his groom.
Carleton nodded in understanding.
“The bloodstain on the back?” He had taken a fall the day before.
His groom nodded.
Matthew stared at Carleton in disbelief and growing horror.
“Describe her,” he whispered.
Matthew’s anger mounted with each word as he listened to Carleton’s description of Evelyn. Fury rose in the pit of his stomach with such force that his breath came out in gasps. Bloody foolish woman! Did she not realize that she could be killed? If not by his horse then by cutthroats?
Saints protect her; he would strangle her if she wasn’t dead already. He stilled. The thought of any harm befalling her left him cold. He cursed his growing fear. Later he would examine it and what it meant, for now he needed to go after her. With his decision made he ran from the room.
Naked.
Chapter 2
Evelyn cursed the beast when it showed no sign of slowing. Her jarring body protested in pain and she wondered miserably if the horse was racing her straight into Hell. The flames of which sound much more appealing than this torture, she thought bitterly.
This was without doubt, the second worst day of her life. The worst being the night she overheard Lord Pompous engage in a wager to bed and wed her—hence her reason for journeying to Bath so early in the season. Yes, the blame rested squarely on Lord Harry’s shoulders.
Evelyn remembered with painstaking clarity why she’d never learned to ride these beasts. She did not care for the sensation, even decided she would steer clear of the Colonies in her travels.
“I’m going to die,” she muttered unsteadily, clinging harder to the animal.
Somehow, above the clatter of hooves, a bellowing voice reached her ears. She shut her eyes in dread. Perhaps if she ignored the person they would disappear, but Evelyn knew better. Someone must have witnessed her appropriation of the horse. It would have been painfully clear that she had no clue as to what she was doing. Perhaps this person would be kind enough to escort her to Bath? Instinct, on the other hand, told her that the world didn’t work that way. It would be either the owner of the beast or someone he’d ordered to retrieve it, along with the thief. Evelyn resisted the urge to peek at her pursuer and was wholly unprepared for the deafening blow that suddenly sounded through the air, causing birds to scatter and the horse to rear.
Evelyn would forever remember it as the most terrifying moment of her life. As the horse reared, her resolve faltered; she glanced over her shoulder at the pursuer. She only had time to see that his horse had reared too before her hold on her own steed slipped.
Her cry of alarm echoed through the air as she tried, but failed, to regain her grip, hitting the ground with a painful thud. She struggled to catch her breath as pain shot through her head. Blackness dimmed her vision. Hooves galloped away from her. Why that should be important she couldn’t recall, but it was.
Her head rolled to the side and she tried to focus her gaze on the other rider to no avail. A curse reached her ears, followed by a thud as he hit the ground. A low whimper passed her lips as her eyes drifted closed. Footsteps rushed toward her. She sensed her pursuer kneeling beside her.
Was it him?
She did not have enough strength to be terrified. Just as well, Evelyn thought. If she’d been able to move she would have curled into a ball and died. The pounding in her head worsened, drowning out all thoughts and sounds. Her eyes fluttered open and at the same time a furious face loomed over her. Concern lit in his eyes even as a vein ticked on his forehead. His tempting mouth opened and closed, but no sound reached her ears. Her eyes drifted closed again. Perhaps he would leave her to suffer in peace.
A memory teased her mind. A familiar face… But it was lost before Evelyn could grab hold of it. Darkness beckoned her to its depth, inviting her to surrender to its pull. She fought against it. It felt too important to connect the face with the memory.
A shiver of recognition passed through her, accompanied by relief. She remembered. The stranger. Another whimper escaped her. Not from the pain, but growing horror that her plan had failed. Was this then, to be her end? It was fine. She had no regrets, no unfinished business or words left unsaid. Her family and friends knew she loved them.
She supposed as deaths went this would be better than most; a quick death. Having accepted her fate Evelyn finally surrendered to the darkness, relieved when it enfolded her in its silky caress and everything turned to black.
Glaring down at the now unconscious woman who lay sprawled on the muddy ground like a pagan sacrifice, Matthew cursed her foolishness. He’d lost ten years of his life when she fell, seconds before his own cursed horse threw him into the mud. Normally he would have no difficulty controlling a horse in hairy situations, but the sound of Evelyn’s cry and the sight of her hitting the ground threw him.
Now mud clung to him and the horses had bolted. He shook his head. Infuriating woman. What the hell caused such madness? Surely it had not been the sight of his face? Had she taken one look at him and she made for the hills?
He ran a feather light touch over her chin and his anger gave way to concern when he noticed her pallor.
“Damn foolish woman,” he muttered, his voice laced with worry as he reached out to tuck a muddy curl behind her ear.
“Evelyn.”
She didn’t respond.
“Evelyn,” he tried again.
Still she did not respond. Matthew cursed. He’d have to get her back to the Inn even if he car
ried her all the way. A quick study of their surroundings confirmed the horses were nowhere in sight. He would love nothing more than to throttle the bastard responsible for that shot. If not for the valuable time wasted to dress, he would have caught up with her sooner.
In quick movements he inspected her small frame, searching for injuries, satisfied when he found none except a small bump at the back of her head. Besides the headache she would have when she regained consciousness, she would live. He let out a breath of relief. This odd woman awakened many unwelcome emotions from deep within him, and he wasn’t happy about it. Not one bit.
“Wake up Evelyn,” he tried once again with more force than he intended. Why won’t she wake up? With a scowl he ran his fingers over where the bump had formed. Could it be more severe than he first thought? It didn’t sit well with him. She was quite small, and the fall had been hard. Would she be able to walk the distance back to the Inn? He knew instinctively she would never allow him to carry her. She would walk the distance even if it killed her. Stubborn chit.
A wave of unease drew his attention away from her and to their surroundings. He found nothing out of place, yet the impression they were being watched did not fade. His focus once more on Evelyn he pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “Wake up sweetheart.”
Evelyn became aware of the stranger urging her to wake up. It seemed odd that he would whisper in her ear with such soft concern. It certainly made no sense to her addled mind. Why would he show her any concern? Were evil villains even capable of such emotion? Perhaps she might be a tad theatrical in her line of thoughts, she reflected, but an evil villain did sound better than a murderer.
She certainly did not imagine them to be handsome. Oh stop it Evelyn! He’s dangerous and much stronger than you. She’d do well to be cautious. Now that her wits had returned she saw the truth of it. The villain sweeps in, pretends to be prince charming all the while planning to use the heroine against the hero. Only there was no hero… just the distinct possibility she’d been wrong. In which case her wits had failed her…
Even so, the devil had to be faced. Raising her lids ever so slowly she peered through her lashes. The throbbing in her head subsided somewhat as her eyes adjusted to the light. Violet eyes met green ones. The green ones blinked, as if they couldn’t grasp that the violet ones had opened. Was that relief in his eyes? Too quickly his expression turned dark and his mouth formed a grim line. Gone was the concerned male, replaced by a strong, hard and very angry one.
“Sylvester could have killed you!” He yelled above her.
Her mouth formed a silent O. Sylvester? It had been his horse? Of course, she mused grimly, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue. Then his words sank into her slow-witted mind. He’s angry because she could have been killed? How very… unexpected.
“You’re powers of deduction are quite marvelous,” she replied as if he were daft, “though I beg to differ on the stealing part.”
She did not feel the need to explain her actions. He owed her an explanation since he apparently took advantage of her inebriated state.
Matthew blinked. Surely he had not heard her correctly? When she’d opened her eyes, his relief had been like a shock to his heart. Anger, however, swiftly replaced any concern he may have felt when the direness of her actions slammed into him, leaving him bared, unsettled and shaken. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but by saints! She tried his temper!
“You borrowed my horse? Madam, is that all you have to say on the matter?” he asked flatly. A hint of menace entered his eyes, satisfied when he saw hers widen in alarm.
Good. She needed to be alarmed. He pushed away from her, needing to put some distance between them before he said something he would regret later. She was an oddity, and he was determined to unearth all her secrets.
Evelyn managed to get to her feet without so much as a flinch. A quick stock of their surroundings showed no horses and thunder clouds looming overhead. She narrowed her eyes on the man standing a few feet away. He stood with his back to her, clear signs of anger visible in his tense form. Had she overreacted in her presumptions?
She pinched the bridge of her nose. He would want answers. The truth, she reflected glumly, would get her locked up in Bedlam.
One step backward, two steps, pause, three steps, four steps—she slowly edged away from him.
He turned then, his hawkish eyes amused as he noted her retreat, the hard line of his mouth softening.
When he only lifted a dark brow Evelyn blurted, “I suspect I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Indeed.”
She gave a curt nod. “I thought you were going to hack me into pieces.”
His jaw slackened. After a startled moment, his eyes lowered which brought him notice her naked legs. She shifted uncomfortably under his regard. She’d completely forgotten about her state of undress!
Matthew hadn’t noticed, having been distracted by his anger and concern. He noticed now. Desire slammed into him with such a force it was all he could do not to— Wait, hack her to pieces?
Why the hell would she assume that? Did he look like a ruffian bent on dragging innocent women to his dungeon with a butcher’s knife? What in the blazes was wrong with this woman? Matthew’s heart sank as thoughts of insanity filled his mind. Had she hit her head harder than he surmised, or escaped from Bedlam?
He all but laughed at the irony. The first woman who’d caught his attention in six years, that made him feel something rather than nothing, and she was as mad as a March hare. Fate certainly had a sense of humor.
“What the devil are you talking about? Why would I hurt you?” he snapped and then lifted his hands to stop her from answering. “Do not answer that. First, I want to know why you stole my horse.” His gaze ran over her in accusation. “In my stolen shirt, no less.”
Evelyn swallowed. “I uh...” She hesitated, how to explain her actions? “I did not know that it was your horse,” she answered truthfully. “As to the why, I found the note in your pocket.”
His eyes dropped to where she removed the note and held it out to him, but he made no move to take it.
“You concluded I’d kill you after reading a note?”
Her delicate chin lifted in defense at his incredulous tone. He stared at her for a single heartbeat before he burst out in laughter.
This, Evelyn thought, was exactly the reason her brother wanted her to marry; to save her from her own imagination. She certainly wouldn’t deny that her imagination may, at times, get the better of her. One glance at this man proved this to be one of those times.
When he hunched on one knee, laughter racking his body, Evelyn had had enough. Ignoring years of pedigree and lessons drummed into her, she marched over to where he was hunched over, and kicked him, her foot connecting with his shoulder. Insufferable goat. She turned on her heel.
“What the hell was that for?” he shouted after her but she ignored him. With one goal in mind—get back to the Inn, find her footman and leave—she stomped off.
Laughter erupted from his chest. The impertinent witch actually had the gall to kick him. His lips twitched as he tracked her movements, seizing the opportunity to admire her backside. She looked glorious with her hair falling to her waist, the sway of her hips, and the skin of her bare legs. A foul curse echoed through the air. Once again he had been distracted by his emotions and had completely forgotten about her attire.
“Damnation woman!” he bellowed. “You are practically naked! Ruffians could’ve accosted and man handled you!”
She shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Look around sir,” she said with a wide gesture of her hands, “the only ruffian here, is you.”
Of all the infuriating women in the world, he had to find her. Closing the distance between them in a few strides, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the field, ignoring her enraged gasp.
“Unhand me!”
His grip tightened. “We need to get off the road before someone sees you,” he gr
owled.
She twisted out of his hold and whirled to impart on him a withering stare. “Why?” she snapped. “So you can manhandle me in the field where no one will see us?”
Matthew blinked at the vehemence in her tone and almost laughed again. He could not help the broad smile that formed on his face. By saints! She had a temper that matched her fiery imagination. “No, my little spitfire, I only considered your reputation. Or do you want everyone to gaze upon those lovely legs of yours?”
Evelyn failed to see the humor. But she hated to admit that he had a point. If she’d not been so preoccupied with getting away from him she might’ve considered the fact.
He must think her a hoyden. She would have thought it. The only course of action now was to get back to the Inn without being seen. Then she would put this entire incident behind her.
“You are right, of course,” she muttered reluctantly, averting her gaze.
Strong fingers gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I will not harm you, of that you have my word.”
That wasn’t the problem, Evelyn speculated darkly as she followed him into the field. He was the problem. Him. With his hypnotic green eyes and gentle touch. And he knew her name whereas she could not remember his. It was a disadvantage that she did not care for. Yet still she followed without complaint.
Her mood improved when she was afforded the perfect opportunity to stare at his magnificent backside—and that she did care for. Even dirty and bedraggled he walked with an air of authority; a superiority and arrogance that no mere man possessed. He walked as though he not only owned the world, but as though he had a right to own it. It was a walk Evelyn recognized, the walk of a man with superior birth.
Yet she did not recognize him. Of course she wasn’t familiar with every aristocrat in England, but if he frequented London, he would’ve known her true identity and that of her family. Her description along with her first name alone, if asked to the right person, would unmask her and if he was a nobleman, as she suspected, he might be duty bound to do the right thing. That would never do! He also did not strike Evelyn as a man that would allow her to indulge in her travels.