Realizing that the direction of his thoughts was not aiding his present state of arousal, Gareth threw back the covers and left his empty bed. The viscount rang the servant cord in his room, instructing the footman who answered to rouse his valet.
Forty-five minutes later, freshly shaved and elegantly dressed, Gareth left his bedchamber. Last night the lovely Emma had hinted that she often breakfasted at an unfashionably early hour. Perhaps that was her way of letting him know this was the perfect opportunity for them to be alone?
The viscount met many servants, but no other guests as he navigated the many twists and turns of the large house. He stepped eagerly into the dining room and noted the sideboard had already been laid with silver chaffing dishes. Even covered, the tantalizing aroma of the various foods escaped and drifted about the room.
As he expected, Gareth encountered more servants in the room, eager to assist the duke’s guests. He waved them away, for his attention had already been captured by something far more delectable than the food. On the far side of the room, seated at the impossibly long mahogany dining table was another guest. A lady.
There was a familiarity about her that set his blood to pumping. Thanks to the distance and angle of her head, he could not discern the exact set of her features. He started toward her, but as he drew closer the light of expectation in his eyes died.
“Good morning, Gareth. I am surprised to see you up and about. I thought I was the only one who enjoyed the quiet and stillness of the morning.”
“Hello, Amelia.” Tempering the edge of his disappointment, Gareth seated himself beside the dowager countess. He noticed she was dressed for riding, in a golden hued ensemble that flattered her complexion. “Have you brought along one of your mounts?”
“To breakfast?” She blushed, almost as though she were astonished by her bold quip. “Forgive my jest. The answer to your question, is no, I did not bring along one of my horses. It was a three-day journey here from my home. Only eager young gentlemen ride such great distances on horseback. Creaky dowagers like myself must ride in large, comfortable coaches when traveling.”
Amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. “I see you still have not forgotten that passing remark concerning my grandmother.”
“Not a single word of it. I might be advanced in years, but I do have an excellent memory.” She laughed. “The duke has been kind enough to put his stables at the disposal of all his guests. If you were properly attired I would invite you to join me after you have eaten your breakfast.”
The viscount raised his china cup to his lips and sipped his hot coffee. She was allowing him the perfect opportunity to take his leave politely, but for some strange reason Gareth did not seize upon it.
“Unlike a woman, a man can quickly change his garments.” He chewed and swallowed a second slice of toasted bread. “I shall meet you at the stables in twenty minutes.”
“I will only wait for twenty minutes.” Amelia’s smile deepened. “In order to force you to live up to your boastful promises.”
Gareth leaned over confidently and whispered in her ear. “Be forewarned, I never boast what I cannot deliver.”
He expected her eyes to widen with surprise or perhaps even expectation, but her gaze remained steady and focused. “I sincerely believe you.”
He watched her graceful strides carry her from the room. Deciding he might need the sustenance, Gareth quickly ate some cheese and downed a second cup of coffee. The change of garments into suitable riding attire was accomplished in record time. He fortunately located a secondary stair down to the ground floor, so he arrived at the stables with a few minutes to spare. The stable boys were as accommodating as all the other servants of the house and rushed forward to assist him in selecting a horse.
Amelia was a fetching sight, mounted atop a chestnut mare. She waited with a patient expression, though Gareth knew that would have changed had he not arrived on time. He soon joined her, riding a sturdy gray hunter. After confirming the direction with one of the grooms, the viscount led the way out.
In his explorations of the estate yesterday he had learned of a folly. Well hidden and private, it was a solid structure that was not open but had a proper door and windows. He had not yet examined the interior. The views of the ornamental lake and formal gardens were reputed to be glorious from inside, but Gareth was more interested in the seclusion and privacy this spot offered.
It could be the perfect location for a rendezvous with Emma. The quiet of the morning was an excellent time to investigate, and Amelia would provide pleasant, amusing company.
They followed the bridle path at a comfortable pace. As soon as the path widened, Gareth drew alongside the countess. When so moved, Gareth made a comment to which Amelia readily responded. Though limited, the conversation between them flowed easily and naturally.
He was pleased the matching bonnet set at a jaunty angle upon her head did not disrupt his view of her features. Gareth enjoyed watching her face glisten in the sunshine, her expressions varying from thoughtful, to amused, to delighted.
Eventually the path ended, the trees giving way to a narrow field.
“Are you game?” she asked with a questioning smile.
“I make no allowances for the weaker sex,” he answered. “And I always race to win.”
“I would expect no less.” She shot him a challenging glance, then took off.
The unexpected start gave her the initial advantage, but Gareth was soon in hot pursuit. They thundered through the meadow, separated by only a few furlongs, with Amelia in the lead. He admired her skill with the reins, her instinct to win. She kept her head low, her knees tightly hugging the mare’s sides as she pushed the horse faster and faster.
The relentless pounding of the horses’ hooves set Gareth’s blood rushing. He surrendered gleefully to the sensation, completely enjoying the thrill of speed, the excitement of the chase, the challenge of competition.
A forest of mature trees loomed ahead. Gareth knew he only had a few minutes to catch her. He urged his horse on, but the countess still had the advantage. She pulled up at the edge of the trees, and turned her head in his direction. The victorious smile upon her face was unmistakable.
“I would have won if you had not cheated,” he declared breathlessly.
“What rot.” Her smile widened. The sound of her labored breathing mingled with his and echoed through the air. “You are angered because you lost to a woman and your male sense of self-worth has been compromised. Admit it.”
“I admit nothing. Males are larger and stronger and fitter than females. We succeed in fair physical challenges because we are better equipped to do so and because we are born with the need to compete at everything. Why else would we relieve ourselves in the snow to see who can shoot the stream the farthest?”
Amelia’s eyes widened. For an instant Gareth was not sure which of them was more shocked by his vulgar language. But before he could gather his thoughts to apologize, Amelia spoke.
“Your point is well-made, Gareth. Females are not properly equipped to compete in snow . . . coloring.” She steered her mare closer, leaned over, and whispered, “Nor would we ever care to try it.”
The trill of a bird broke the moment of silence. Gareth felt the edge of his lips begin to curve upward. This was without question the most bizarre conversation he had ever had with a female, yet there was something so ridiculously appealing about the moment he almost didn’t want it to end.
“Have you visited the duke’s folly yet?” he inquired.
“No.” Something flickered in her eyes. He had a fleeting impression it was anticipation. “I would very much like to see it. I have heard it is rather unique.”
Gareth nodded. “I caught a glimpse of it yesterday. Let’s see if I can remember where it is located.”
Gareth turned his horse onto the path and Amelia meekly followed. They ambled gently through the well-marked path, then came to a narrow turnoff nearly hidden in the underbrush.
They followed it around, with Gareth still in the lead. The quiet stillness of the forest engulfed them, creating a peaceful almost languid mood. The trees gradually thinned to open space and formally laid gardens, which was an amazing sight considering how far they were from the main house.
Gareth halted as they neared the edge of an ornamental lake. Before them stood a stone bridge, arched and narrow, clearly meant only for human traffic. If he remembered correctly the folly stood on the other side of it.
He dismounted, tied the horse’s reins to a sturdy tree trunk, then returned to fetch Amelia. She handed him her reins. After securing them to the same tree trunk, Gareth returned.
He reached up, circled his hands about her waist, and assisted her down. He heard a soft gasp and smiled, thinking she felt a heightened sense of awareness, but then her horse shifted and Gareth realized Amelia feared she would fall.
He braced his legs and tightened his grip. She reached the ground safely, but landed against his chest. Heat began to dance beneath his skin, awakening his body. She glanced up and their eyes met briefly. A strange, possessive emotion skittered through him.
“Forgive my clumsiness,” she muttered, stepping away.
He extended his arm. She clasped it lightly and they proceeded over the bridge.
“Is that it?” Amelia asked in a surprised tone.
Gareth lifted his chin and gazed ahead. Nestled among the trees was a building, not of classic or traditional design, with a domed center and opened sides, but rather a fully enclosed stone structure that in many ways resembled a country cottage.
“It must be. Though the duke strikes me as the type who would create a Gothic ruin or ancient temple or even the more common tower when creating a folly.”
“This is a somewhat eccentric choice.”
“A privilege of his age, rank, and wealth.” Gareth shrugged. “Of course, as a gift to my mother on her fiftieth birthday, my father had a pyramid folly built.”
“Was she pleased?”
“Inordinately.” They exchanged amused grins. “My mother has always prided herself on being at the center of the latest trends. These structures are quickly becoming all the rage and are being erected with seeming random abandon about the landscapes of many grand houses. One can hardly visit a country home without eventually tripping over one.”
“That should not be a problem in this case,” Amelia commented. She tilted her head and gazed about. “I doubt many guests can even find the folly.”
The verbalization of that simple truth seemed to charge the atmosphere with an electric current, as it emphasized how completely alone they were. The rising blush of color in Amelia’s cheeks let Gareth know she felt it too.
If it were any other woman he would have moved closer, by instinct or habit. But there was something unique and special about the countess that Gareth did not want clouded by a sexual dalliance. Besides, there was Emma to be pursued and presently she required every ounce of his attention.
“At least the cottage is picturesque,” the viscount interjected hastily. “The rumor persists that the Earl of Dunmore is constructing a gigantic pineapple building at Dunmore Park.”
“A pineapple! Good heavens.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Well, that only confirms my original impressions of the earl. Though I have encountered him only intermittently over the years, I never thought him to be a man who possessed an excess of good taste.”
“Shall we go inside?” He opened the door before she could answer.
Amelia obediently stepped forward. Gareth had to duck his head to avoid hitting the cross-beam, but once inside he could stand upright without difficulty.
“This is utterly charming,” Amelia declared.
The viscount agreed. Though the outside of the building was simple and quaint in design, the inside boasted elaborate, decorative refinements. There were elegant wooden chairs with detailed tapestry cushions, a cozy settee in a pale green velvet that matched the thick carpet covering most of the wooden floor, a bookcase filled with titles, a chess table with ivory carved pieces arranged and ready to play.
The windows were simply adorned with dark green silk curtains, pulled back to emphasize the tranquil view of the lake and artfully arranged gardens surrounding it.
“The flowers in the vases are fresh. This folly must be well used,” Gareth commented.
“It seems almost like a place from a fairy tale,” Amelia said. She trailed her finger along the edge of a polished table as she walked to the windows. “ ’Tis very much like I imagine the French queen’s hamlet near Trianon. I read that Marie-Antoinette selected the site of the lakeside village at Versaille herself and often enjoyed playing at being a shepherdess.”
“And they say the English aristocracy is odd.” Gareth moved to stand behind her. “Trianon is pretty, but I think the duke’s cottage has more appeal, more ambiance.”
Her head whirled around. “You have seen it? The one in France?”
Gareth nodded. “My grand tour included not only Italy and Greece, but France. Have you ever traveled abroad?”
She pulled a face. “No, though I always longed to make the journey. My late husband saw no merit in anyone or anything that was not English. Except for fine French brandy.”
He looked at her, deeply thoughtful. “Will you marry again?”
“God no!” Her face paled. “My brother-in-law, Roger, has other ideas, but I shall not heed them. I am entitled to live at Dower House on the family estate and once the repairs are completed will happily take up residence. It will provide me with the peace and independence I have earned.”
He sensed there was more to the story than she was reluctant to reveal, but would not press her.
“What of you, Gareth. Will you marry soon?”
His jaw dropped. “Marry?” he repeated in a bemused tone. “I had not thought . . . what I mean to say, is that there is no expectation—” He paused, took a deep breath, and marshaled his thoughts. “I am a second son. There is no need for my prodigy.”
“Children are not the only reason to wed,” she said airily.
Gareth sighed and tried to put his objections into words that would not make him appear like a total bounder. “Marriage is not a state I find myself eager to embrace. Perhaps when I am older, more settled, the notion of home and hearth and one woman will have greater appeal.”
“Your tone might be sincere, but I am not convinced, sir.” She raised her head to look at him and he saw the sparkle of laughter in her eyes. “Just speaking of marrying makes you look as though you have swallowed a lemon.”
“It feels more like a horse,” he confided.
“I understand, even applaud your attitude. Marriage is not necessary to make all right in the world.”
“Exactly.” He was pleasantly surprised by her reaction, unusual in his experience for a woman. “My older brother will soon select a bride, as is his duty, yet I firmly believe if he chooses wisely he will be content to live within the rules and conventions of the institution.”
“You are very different from your brother?”
The viscount nodded vigorously. “Nearly exact opposites. John is everything I am not. Level-headed, steadfast, responsible. He visits all the minor and major properties each year, which is no small feat, while I have not stepped foot on my own inheritance in years. The ducal title would be in dire straits if circumstances were to somehow make me the heir.”
She looked at him with a slight frown. “You exaggerate the differences by saying that your older brother is everything you are not. Yet, I think you are wrong. He is everything you choose not to be. There is a vast difference.”
He paused for a moment to consider her words. “I cannot ever imagine myself making a success of heading the family.”
“Your reputation suggests you are a master of all vices, but in our short acquaintance I have learned that you are neither spineless nor a dullard. If you set your mind to doing something competently, then it would be accomplished.”
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nbsp; Gareth froze to stare at her. For almost all of his life the expectation had been for him to be a wastrel, a rogue, a man who indulged his every whim. He had embraced that role with wholehearted enthusiasm, yet there were rare instances when he pondered if he was even fit or capable of another kind of life.
“Only one other person has ever expressed such confidence in my abilities to succeed,” he admitted.
“Who?”
“I hesitate to say.” Gareth flashed a wicked grin.
Her hazel eyes darkened first with understanding, then with merriment. “Your grandmother?”
“The very same.”
She burst into laughter, her head falling forward. It landed squarely against his chest, sending a warm shiver of delight shooting up his spine. Without thinking, Gareth encircled her in his arms. When she tilted her head, no doubt in surprise, he kissed her, full on the lips.
It was a quick joining, with no overt sexual intent, but the sudden pressure of her cool, firm lips shook him. For an instant Gareth wanted to let the wave of passion he felt flow through them, but he resisted.
This was possibly the most interesting situation he had ever found himself in when alone with a lovely woman. Every rakish instinct within him screamed for him to begin an all-out seductive assault, yet a part of him demanded that he hold back.
He broke the contact and stepped back, staring at her in disbelief. Their eyes held for what seemed far too long. With effort, he conquered the urge to reach for her again. Amelia made no move toward him, indeed she made no movement at all, though he sensed she wanted to say or do something. Unfortunately the viscount was too rattled by his own reaction to try and determine what that might be.
They left the folly in silence. Gareth studied her openly as they rode back to the house, regretting, yet not regretting the kiss. At this juncture he felt it would have been unwise to change the tenor of their relationship. It was blossoming into a rare friendship, something Gareth thought far more valuable and lasting than a few weeks of spirited bedsport.
An ironic smile flickered over the viscount’s mouth. He had no idea that being noble could be so damn difficult.
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