Recklessly Yours

by Allison Chase

  He went to her and swung her off her feet. “I don’t wish to hurt you. The accident earlier . . .”

  “I am as right as rain.” Her arms slid easily around his neck. “I’ve had it on the authority of a very wise duchess.”

  Perhaps, but he certainly didn’t want to think about his grandmother now, or about curses or missing colts or the rabble that was eager to storm Briarview’s gates. Shoving those thoughts away, he dipped his face to the curve of her neck and immersed himself in the fragrance that was uniquely hers. Holding her firm against him, he carried her to the bed, laid her down, and leaned to cover her with his torso. His lips pressed to hers, he let his nightmares melt away into the warm flush of her skin and heady dream of loving her.

  Yes, merely a dream, but one he needed to believe in if only for a few more hours. He needed to pretend that something in this world possessed the power to vanquish ancient curses.

  And if anyone held that power, it must be the brave and bold Holly Sutherland.

  For the second time that afternoon, tears pricked at Holly’s eyes. She lay on her side, nested in a deep depression in the down mattress, her back framed by Colin’s length, his strong arm draped around her waist. His body warmed her even through the layers of clothing they wore: her chemise, his shirt and trousers. His steady, even breath gently stirred the curls at her nape. The beat of his heart thudded reassuringly against her spine.

  She felt utterly at peace . . . and utterly floundering in turmoil.

  Her breasts ached with the irrepressible yearning to feel his palms on them once more. Her body at once thrummed with pleasure and echoed with a hollow note. Despite his lifting her chemise and exploring all of her—or nearly all—once again her deepest feminine core had not been breached. And while she knew she should rejoice in that, she couldn’t dismiss a profound and crushing disappointment.

  Nor could she help wishing that Colin Ashworth were not such a gentleman.

  Not that gallantry had prevented him from taking his pleasure. With his hand wrapped around hers, he had shown her where and how to touch him, hold him, move him, until rapture had forced his head back against the pillows, his neck strained and corded, while he gave himself up to her control.

  She had relished every moment of it. Closing her eyes, she had glimpsed him again as she had seen him on the moor, riding free among the ponies like a Celtic warrior of old. In a rush of shared, exhilarating passion, she had whispered to him that it would be all right if he were to . . .

  But in the darkening of his gaze she’d had her denial. A gentleman’s denial, for he was unwilling to ruin her for the sake of an afternoon’s pleasure. Then, laughing, he’d rolled her across the bed and done unspeakable, delicious, wicked things to her.

  But things that had left her maidenhood intact and commitment unnecessary.

  Tangled up with her conflicting emotions lurked a sense of betrayal. . . . She had betrayed Victoria’s trust, and now the dowager duchess’s as well. Obviously the woman had meant to warn her away from Colin, and earlier, alone in this guest chamber, Holly had formed the resolve to do just that. When she had waved to him outside the window, she had meant it only as a friendly gesture—

  No. Even now, she lied—lied to herself as she would be forced to lie to Maria Ashworth, in manner if not in actual words. In a short time she must sit before the kindly woman and pretend she felt nothing—nothing at all but polite regard for her grandson, while in truth she continued to ache for the moorland warrior who had raided her heart and stolen her soul.

  But he had not marauded her body, at least not in the way that mattered most. She supposed that however Colin felt about her, on some instinctive level, he believed she was not the woman for him. He could not trust in her strength, her loyalty, her resolve to stand by him. So while he had left her sated, he’d also left her craving more . . . more than she would be allowed to know.

  As the sun slanted across the open country beyond the estate, he stirred and gathered her in his arms. Coming fully awake, he kissed her, but a change had come over him. His lips no longer communicated the passion of their stolen hours together. Their touch was brief, almost chaste—the kiss of a man bidding good-bye to a woman he happened to esteem.

  He rolled away quickly and gained his feet. They exchanged few words, mostly about what time he would expect her at supper. After refastening his trousers, tucking in his shirt, and pulling on the rest of his clothing—boots, waistcoat, cravat, and coat—he opened the door a crack to ensure no one would see him leave. Then like a reiver in the night, he slipped away, unaware that he took with him the whole of her being.

  Some half hour later, a soft tap sounded at her door. After a beat the duchess’s maid entered with a sumptuous silk gown draped over one arm. “Her Grace sent me to ask if you felt well enough to attend supper, miss.”

  With a fortifying breath, Holly prepared to face the evening.

  “I wish you’d let me come with you.” Holly followed Colin across the stable yard to where Cordelier stood saddled and ready to leave Briarview. The sun had not yet pushed above the horizon, and long gray shadows draped the gardens and plunged the forested riding lanes beyond them into dense, inky midnight. She caught up to Colin as he leaned down to check Cordelier’s girth. “Maybe I could help,” she said to the broad sweep of his shoulders.

  “No.” He straightened and reached up with both arms to test the straps holding his bag to the back of the saddle. “I’ve no idea where my search might take me. It would be too dangerous having you along.”

  Her hands fisted around the corners of the cashmere shawl she’d borrowed from his grandmother. “I wouldn’t slow you down. You know that . . .”

  “I said no.” He pivoted suddenly, his face so close to hers that she pulled back with a start. “Did our journey here teach you nothing?”

  “You were shot at, too. Or . . . perhaps neither of us was shot at. You yourself said it was probably a hunter’s misfire.”

  “And you think I’ll let you run that risk again?” His features pulled tight; his mouth thinned.

  She shrank back again, but lifted her chin in a burst of defiance. “You needn’t look so severe . . . nor be so stubborn.”

  His scowl deepening, he reached for her and pulled her close. His face dipped, bringing his cheek against hers, his lips brushing her hair. “I don’t know what will happen in the days to come. Ah, Holly, how will I ever find the colt? It could be anywhere by now.”

  “If you’d let me help you . . .”

  He was shaking his head before she completed the thought. He lifted his face, his gaze filled with pain. “If I am to fail, I’ll fail alone. But I’ll rest easier knowing you’ll be here with my grandmother. At the first sign of unrest from the villagers, the slightest indication that they might be turning their anger toward Briarview again, you’re to make certain the house is locked up tight and no one—and I do mean no one—is to venture outside.”

  The very notion chilled her. “Do you think it will come to that?”

  She expected him to shake his head and profess the warning to merely be a precaution. He surprised her by nodding. “If I don’t lead the colt through that village within a fortnight, then yes, it very well might. Sooner, should any further misfortune befall the local families. Now bid me good-bye.”

  He set his knuckles beneath her chin and swept his lips across hers. The kiss sent tingling heat showering through her, ever more so when his tongue prodded the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, drinking in the taste of him and accepting the bittersweet reality that where honor and obligation took him, she could not follow. His lips melted hotly, wetly, over hers, only to break away when a voice called his name.

  “Colin!”

  The duchess. His head snapped up. Holly looked up at the garden path, searching for the source of the voice. Perched in an open sedan chair carried by two broad-chested footmen, the elderly woman craned her neck to see past the shrubbery into the stable yard. A youth dressed in
boots and breeches walked beside her chair. Behind her, a lantern swung from its post at the rear corner of the chaise, making the shadows dance.

  “Colin, are you still here?”

  At this indication that Maria Ashworth hadn’t yet seen them, Holly sighed with relief. Colin strode across the stable yard to the half wall at the base of the gardens. Holly hurried along behind him, tucking behind her ear the strands of hair that had fallen loose during their kiss.

  Colin reached for his grandmother’s small, veined hand when the sedan chair stopped beside him. “I thought we’d said our good-byes, Grandmother.”

  “Indeed we did, but this lad arrived only moments ago.” She thrust an envelope into his hands. “He has a message from Sabrina and he says it is urgent.”

  “More theatrics from my sister?”

  The footmen stared straight ahead, pretending deafness. Holly laid her hand on Colin’s forearm. “You often underestimate your sister,” she said quietly. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

  Colin shifted his gaze to the boy, whom he recognized as one of the head groom’s lads-in-training. “What is it, Joshua?”

  “My lord, it’s the horses. Nearly all of them. A ravaging illness has swept through the stables, one even Mr. Peterson, our veterinarian, cannot identify. If someone doesn’t find a cure soon, they’ll begin dying. . . .”

  As Colin heard those words, his skin darkened. His fingers began to shake. “Wyatt!” he shouted across the stable yard. A moment later a young groom came running out of the building. “Unsaddle Cordelier and put him away. I’ll need the carriage readied, and a team hired from the village. Send Douglas. Immediately!”

  “Aye, milord!”

  The duchess’s eyes flashed with horror. “Yes, go . . . go at once!”

  Chapter 24

  Colin strode back to the stables, unsure how he could keep his panic at bay during the long ride back to Masterfield Park. Joshua’s description of the symptoms almost suggested that the horses had been poisoned.

  Then he heard Holly scrambling across the cobbles to catch up with him. “It could be nothing more than a severe case of colic. Surely your Mr. Peterson is increasing their water and walking them, perhaps administering a dose of mineral oil. . . .”

  Colin whirled, his fears translating to anger. “Colic that strikes an entire stable of horses? This is more than a common bellyache. At the very least it signifies tainted feed. A blight, or perhaps a parasite. If so, it won’t be cured by a walk and a bit of oil.”

  Frowning at his tone, Holly retreated a step. But neither her chin nor her direct gaze wavered. “I’m coming with you.”

  Her declaration sent relief through him, as if simply having her at his side would cure the horses and fix everything. He wanted her with him, wanted to reach his arms around her and anchor his world with her earnest faith and her forthright courage. But that was a false perception. She could not help him; he could only drag her down with him into the mire.

  “No,” he said bluntly. “I want you here, with Grandmother. As we agreed.”

  “I only agreed because you were going off to search for the colt. Now that you’re returning to Masterfield Park there is no reason I shouldn’t accompany you and return to my sisters. Ivy may need me and besides . . . perhaps I can help with the horses.”

  More false hopes. They triggered his temper. “Are you a veterinarian?”

  The determination in her expression dimmed. “No, but—”

  “Then you cannot help.”

  She shot a glance over her shoulder at the approaching sedan chair. His grandmother waved a hand as she urged the footmen to hurry their steps into the stable yard. Before she reached earshot, Holly whispered, “Have you forgotten the queen? It’s time I reported back to Her Majesty. She has a right to know her colt may never be recovered.”

  “And do you intend on telling her the truth?”

  An eternity seemed to pass before she answered. She owed him nothing and God knew he had no right to make demands. Yet as the moment stretched he felt himself dying, withering inside.

  “No,” she finally said, and he drew air into his lungs as though he were being born, as if it were his very first breath. Relief eased the tension from his shoulders, the knots from his gut.

  “Thank you.” Across the way, the footmen had passed through the garden gate and into the stable yard. “What will you tell Her Majesty?” he asked quickly. “I don’t wish you to lie for my sake. If it comes down to it—”

  “I will, though,” she whispered. “I’ll lie for you, but not only for you. I’ll protect the colt. Should you ever find him, you must return him to the moor. I understand that now.”

  “Ah, God . . .” A sharp ache wrapped itself around his chest.

  “And I am coming with you.”

  How could he tell her no when he wanted her with him so badly? Yet how would he withstand the ride all the way to Masterfield Park with her sitting within arm’s reach? He’d already compromised her. How could he be such a blackguard as to continue to do so, when he knew he couldn’t offer more? He shook his head, trying to stand firm. “This won’t be a leisurely three–or four-days’ ride. The pace will be brutal, for I intend to travel nonstop, except when I must change teams.”

  “That doesn’t matter—”

  “What is this?” When his grandmother reached them, she signaled the footmen to bring the sedan chair to a halt, but not to set her down. As a result, she hovered imperially at Colin’s eye level. “Did I hear correctly that you wish Miss Sutherland to remain here while you return to Masterfield Park?”

  “I thought it would be best, for her comfort and your safety, Grandmother. The villagers—”

  “I’ll be the judge of what’s best for my safety, young man. For your information, the villagers do not frighten me in the least. Bluster, that’s what they are. Angry, true enough, and with cause. But they belong to Briarview as much as we do, and they will not make good on their threats. Miss Sutherland is to return to Masterfield Park with you.” With a dismissive sniff, she crossed her arms over her bosom.

  “I’d still feel better if—”

  “Colin.” Holly’s hand came down on his forearm. “If Her Grace wishes me gone, we must not argue.”

  “Oh, my dear, don’t misunderstand,” his grandmother said. She reached out to grasp Holly’s hand. “It isn’t that I wish you to go. Quite the contrary, I should like nothing more than for you and me to become better acquainted. However, you must go. Your place is no longer here. Not just now, at any rate,” she added.

  “I don’t understand, Your Grace.”

  “In time you will.” She smiled brightly. “Now, then, the two of you had best make yourselves ready to go. Douglas will be back with the team before you know it.”

  Colin didn’t know whether to laugh or tear at his hair in frustration. “Grandmother, the Ashworth family and all our prospects lie in shambles. How can you be so optimistic?”

  She had no answer for him, only an enigmatic smile whose meaning eluded him. No matter. Within the hour he and Holly were barreling along the eastbound highway, Colin having entrusted the driving of the carriage and four to the capable hands of Douglas, Briarview’s longtime coachman. Joshua would remain in Devonshire for a much-needed rest after his harried journey there, and then make his way home at his leisure.

  Colin put his efforts into remaining on his end of the velvet bench seat, his spine pressed to the cushioned squabs and his hands fisted on his knees. How easy it would have been—too easy—to pull Holly into his arms and allow his hands to roam beneath the hems of the riding habit she had resumed wearing.

  How easy to indulge their desires within the shadows of the carriage’s interior. Like the tree that falls in the forest with no one to hear . . . would Holly be ruined if there was no one to see? No one to tell tales?

  How easy to form the answer he would like to be true. But that wouldn’t make it true.

  He clenched his hands tighter. Bad
enough they would arrive in Masterfield Park together like this—like the pair of lovers they almost were. He glanced over at her, his gaze tracing her profile. She sat with her hands clasped lightly in her lap, her body swaying with the motion of the coach. She seemed far less perturbed than in those final moments at Briarview, as if she’d reached a conclusion that gave her comfort. It made him wonder . . .

  “What did Grandmother mean when she said your place was no longer at Briarview?”

  He’d expected her to be startled by his sudden question, cutting like a knife through the silence. But as if she’d been pondering the very same matter, she only compressed her lips and peered at him through the ever-moving shadows. “I’m not sure. I thought at first she was angry with me, and wanted me gone.” She smiled wistfully. “Apparently your grandmother is confident that everything will come out well, and somehow my returning to Masterfield Park plays a part in that plan.”

  “Do you believe she’s right?”

  She shrugged. “At this point I neither believe nor disbelieve. Events will unfold as they will. Your grandmother told me a story yesterday, and I believe it meant we must be patient and not resist what fate has planned for us.”

  “Must we be passive?”

  “No, we must believe that all things are possible.”

  “Even curses?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perhaps that most of all. For what is a curse but the results of our own failure to have faith?”

  He angled a gaze out the window at the passing fields dotted with sheep, cattle, and the occasional worker. “Faith is something I lost a long time ago.”

  “Your grandmother hasn’t lost hers.”

  “Grandmother is an idealist.” A pang struck his chest, a sharp pain that was half remorse and half anger that his grandmother and mother had had so little to depend on in their lives, enduring husbands who had scorned their every attempt to usher happiness into the Ashworth family. For their pains they’d received ridicule and disregard, intermingled with bouts of drunken violence. Perhaps this was the truth of the family curse, not a spurned Celtic princess but a legacy of abuse handed down from one despicable individual to another.