Recklessly Yours

by Allison Chase

  He had escaped such a heritage only by literally escaping—into academia and his science, where the steadiness of logic overruled emotion and irrationality. His life at Cambridge had saved him.

  But saved him for what? In the end, he was still Thaddeus Ashworth’s son.

  Crossing one leg over the other knee, he hunkered down lower on the seat and leaned his head back. “Faith is something Grandmother clung to by necessity, when she had nothing else.”

  “On the contrary.” Holly paused, and he raised his face to regard her. A shrewdness that mirrored Grandmama’s spread across her features. “The dowager duchess may resort to mythology to explain the world around her. She may even believe in that mythology to a point. But I assure you, your grandmother is a realist. And she possesses something you lack.” She chuckled softly. “And which I lack, too.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Patience.”

  “Ah, true. Then what of faith, Miss Sutherland? What, if anything, do you believe in?”

  “I have faith in God. And in my sisters.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “And in Victoria.”

  His hand reached across the seat before his mind even formed the intent to touch her. He caressed her cheek, a slight graze of his fingertips. “What about me? Does Holly Sutherland have faith in me?”

  She hesitated in answering, and just as in Briarview’s stable yard, he died a dozen small deaths while he waited, wishing he hadn’t asked—wishing he hadn’t needed to ask. Yet everything he’d always believed himself to be as a man hung in the balance, dependent, somehow—irrationally—on her answer.

  Ha. Science hadn’t really saved him at all.

  But when it came, her whispered yes renewed him as nothing else could. He slid to her, and then she was in his arms, their mouths pressed, their breath mingled. His lust prodded, sprang to life, even as his heart opened on a torrent of emotion that enveloped him and sent unexpected words sliding from his lips into the sultry interior of Holly’s mouth.

  “If things had been different, had I not been an Ashworth, I’d have asked for your hand months ago.”

  She went utterly still in his arms.

  He drew back, then pressed his forehead to hers and shut his eyes. “You deserve to know that. Since our first ride together at Harrowood, I knew you were the perfect woman for me, that I could never want another as much as I wanted you—”

  “You took pains to hide it,” she whispered hoarsely, her lips brushing his.

  “Yes, I did, because I feared bringing you into my family, letting my father anywhere near you. . . . But I thought about you constantly. Then, just weeks ago, I thought I’d finally gathered the courage to face whatever the future brought—as long as I had you at my side. I was determined to speak to you, not to ask for your hand just then, but to reveal something of my feelings. I’m sure you’ve forgotten that morning in Simon and Ivy’s morning room—”

  Her hands tightened around his forearms. “Box hedges.”

  Surprised, he pulled away to peer at her. “By God, yes. It was that morning.”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes. “But why did you never get past asking about those blasted hedges?”

  He felt as though a dagger was slowly piercing his chest. “You were so beautiful that morning. So lovely and fresh and candid. It made me think of my family again. Good God, Holly, how could I bring you into such a family?”

  “I’m stronger than you know.”

  “Perhaps, but I found myself unwilling to take the chance, to risk losing the person you are by exposing you to things that would change you.” He sat up straighter, moving his hands to her shoulders and creating space between them. “I did right. What if I had spoken of my feelings, my intentions?” She started to answer, but he pressed his fingers over her lips. “No, Holly. Look at me now. I am a horse thief and a traitor, with a curse over my head. It doesn’t matter if curses are real or not. The result is the same. I cannot offer you the life you deserve.”

  She blinked her tears away, and swiped angrily at the one that still spilled down her cheek. “You’re a fool, then, Colin Ashworth. I would have stood by you.” She pulled away from him and angled her gaze out the window. “I’d have stood by you through everything.”

  Yes, and that would have hurt most of all. Not the consequences of stealing from the queen, not the repercussions at Briarview should the colt never be returned, but knowing she suffered for his sake.

  “Why did you even bother telling me?” she asked in a flat voice.

  “Because surely my feelings must have become obvious to you these past several days. I thought it only right you knew the truth.”

  She turned back to him, her countenance sharp, her eyes accusing. “You believe that to be the truth? That you were protecting me?”

  He nodded.

  “As I said, you are a fool. You weren’t protecting me. You were underestimating me, as you do with everyone else in your life.” His mouth opened but she cut him off. “You were right about one thing—you don’t have faith, not in anyone. You believe you must face adversity alone because no one else is strong enough to stand with you. Because in your eyes no one else can be trusted not to wither away and die. You’d rather wither and die alone than risk putting your faith in anyone. In me.”

  “You don’t understand . . .”

  Holly stopped listening to him. He could go on and on about wanting to spare her from the unpleasantness of his family, but he would never dissuade her of what she knew to be the truth. He didn’t believe in her, didn’t believe the love that had been growing steadily between them was stronger than any difficulties life could throw at them. For better or worse. She believed in that. She was strong enough to live by such a vow.

  Perhaps if she had been a woman like Penelope Wingate, she could see the sense in his actions. If she were a woman who wanted little more than the status and wealth of being a future duchess, then yes, of course such a marriage would be unsatisfactory. But she didn’t care a whit for the things he could give her. She wanted only him. Colin Ashworth the man. And while his hardheaded, noble desire to step between danger and those in his care was part of that man, and part of what she loved about him, his stubborn refusal to accept help made her want to slap sense into him.

  What angered her most was his refusal to allow her a choice. He had simply decided what was best for her, and brooked no debate. As though she were a child. Even now, as he moved away to occupy the far end of the carriage seat, his troubled expression held a certain self-assurance, because no matter who suffered, he apparently felt justified in his decision.

  She crossed her arms in front of her and tried to settle in for the remainder of the ride. He had promised a grueling pace, and he hadn’t lied. She had long since lost track of the hours, even of how many times they stopped, each respite proving all too short before she’d had to fold her aching limbs back onto the carriage seat and endure endless miles of incessant jostling.

  His confession had denied her any comfort she might have derived from traveling together toward a shared fate, a common goal. Instead, she understood now that they were traveling to an end, and that once they arrived in Masterfield Park she would no longer have any claim on him, or hold any significant place in his life.

  She dozed, then awakened to find him staring across the seat at her. For a moment her heart gave a lift as she thought perhaps her reproving words had forced him to reconsider.

  “Where does my mother believe you to have gone?” he asked.

  The question caught her off guard, and filled her with disappointment. “I . . . er . . . down to London. Why?”

  “I think we should separate at the next coaching inn. I’ll arrange transportation to take you the remaining distance to Masterfield Park.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “You know how quickly the rumors will fly if we’re seen returning together.” His words struck her like rapid gunfire, equally as jarring. “There is no reason to sacrifice
your reputation.”

  The irony of that statement, considering the unnecessary sacrifices he seemed willing to make, pushed mirthless laughter from her lips.

  His nostrils flared as if she had offended him, rather than the other way around. “I won’t be responsible for destroying your future,” he said.

  You already have, irreparably. “You are not responsible for me, and you don’t owe me anything,” she said evenly, proud that she could prevent the mutinous tears from putting a tremor in her voice. For it had suddenly occurred to her that along with not believing in her sufficiently, perhaps he simply didn’t love her sufficiently. Perhaps that had been the trouble all along. Oh, he admired her, esteemed her, perhaps found her an intriguing contrast to the elegant young women who typically crossed his path. But when it came to actually marrying her . . .

  “Very well, then, we’ll continue on together.” He slid the window open. “Can we go any faster?” he called out to the driver.

  “We’ll be changing teams at the next coaching inn, my lord,” the man shouted back. “I daren’t go any faster till then.”

  She shivered at the cool air streaming in the open window, then wished she hadn’t when she once again felt his scrutiny. She very nearly admitted she was cold so he would hold her, or at the very least remove his coat and drape it around her shoulders. If she couldn’t have his arms around her, couldn’t have him, his sleeves, warm with his musky scent, seemed the next best thing. “I’m all right,” she said to his unspoken question. “Just stiff.”

  Without a word he slid closer, and in a haze of exhaustion she watched his arm come up and his hand reach for her. As it closed around her shoulder and pulled her toward him, anger and longing fought inside her.

  “Don’t,” she protested weakly.

  “Let me.” He tugged the ribbons beneath her chin and tossed her bonnet onto the seat at his other side. She felt his lips on her hair. “I am an ass,” he whispered.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Her head tipped, angling to the heat of his mouth until their lips met, easily, inevitably; a perfect fit. The taste of him filled her, and imbued her with the sense of how life could be. . . .

  The pain became almost too much to bear until he lifted his mouth. “You may have been right about me,” he said.

  “I know I am right.”

  “But not entirely. Perhaps I should have had more faith in you sooner, but I didn’t know you then as I do now. I couldn’t even have fathomed just how much there was to learn about you. But what I could not believe was that there could be a happy ending in all of this. That I could return the colt to Briarview and simply walk away from the crime I’d committed. That my father would no longer have a hold over me.”

  “Or that I would stand by your side through it all. You wouldn’t believe that, either.”

  His embrace tightened. He held her close, his face in her hair, his heart beating against her breast. But when he pulled away again, he was shaking his head. “I won’t allow you to sink with me. But—” He broke off, and the look that came over him held her spellbound. “If by some miracle I find a way to extricate myself . . . I haven’t the least idea how . . . but if I do . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Then I shall be speaking to one of your brothers-in-law.”

  For an instant they held each other as joy enveloped them, flowing like golden light around them. But as he dipped his head to kiss her, she saw it in his eyes—that glimmer of doubt that belied his hopefulness. He didn’t believe their happy ending would come. He wanted it, treasured the possibility, but in the end, he still didn’t believe strongly enough.

  Still, she let him hold her, kiss her, allowed their pretense to continue. Desire flamed to life, fueled by the memory of all the things they had shared, the kisses, the caresses, the secrets rendered by their bodies when touched just so.

  “Colin . . .” She whispered his name like the desperate entreaty it was.

  His own whispered reply tore from his throat. “I only mean to hold you.”

  “I know.”

  “Damn it, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.”

  “No, never.”

  The world tumbled, and then the carriage seat pressed her back and the biting muscles of Colin’s chest and abdomen and thighs pressed her front. Pressed her painfully, deliciously.

  His hands dived beneath her hems and raised them. Without permission or prelude he thumbed his trouser buttons open. Her own impatience beyond enduring, her soft cries filled the carriage as his hips pinned her and the impossibly hot length of his shaft rubbed between her thighs. She instinctively parted for him, her arms encircling his waist, her own hips coming off the seat to meet him.

  She braced for pain—it should hurt, she’d been told—but she felt only the gently demanding nudge at her nether lips.

  He came to her barrier and stopped. Above her, Colin lay completely rigid as if he feared making the slightest motion, while he pulsed within her contracted muscles, their joined spasms hinting at something greater, a shared communion of pleasure, a completion.

  But just as she seized upon the notion and tried to rock her hips to bury him deeper, he began to recede. She gripped his arms, fingernails biting through his sleeves. “No.”

  “I must.” He paused as if agonizing over the decision he’d made. “While the future is still so uncertain, what else can I do?”

  Have me, ravish me, love me . . .

  “Live for now,” she said, “because we don’t know what we’ll find when this carriage stops and its doors open.”

  He shook his head, and without another word he retreated from her. Before she could fully mourn the loss of him and of what her body craved so intensely, he leaned between parted her knees, and she felt the warm brush of his hair against her thighs.

  She gasped as his tongue entered her. Yet a protest rose up, and she tugged at his shoulders until he slid off the seat and knelt on the floorboards beside her, his torso within easy reach. His mouth never left her, not even when her hand followed the trail of fine hairs from his navel downward, and her fingers closed around his shaft. As she stroked up and down, his lips moved all the more fiercely against her and his tongue lashed deeper, all in a mounting rhythm goaded by the rocking carriage.

  Then she turned her face into the velvet squabs to muffle the sounds of her ecstasy, while his shudders traveled like silent thunder all through her.

  Chapter 25

  Masterfield Park lay dark and silent when Douglas turned the carriage up the drive sometime between midnight and dawn. Colin didn’t have him stop at the house, but ordered him to circle to the stables. With sleepy eyes, Holly nodded her agreement. They would see to the horses before seeking their own comfort.

  A haggard-looking Mr. Peterson met them in the cobbled forecourt as Colin handed Holly down from the carriage. “It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before, my lord. One or two horses at a time, yes, but not an entire stable full.”

  “Tell me exactly what the symptoms have been, starting with the earliest ones.”

  “First we noticed a slightly unsteady gait on some of the horses, and a tightening of their flanks, as though they were holding their bellies. The intestinal symptoms began soon after, and I’ve noticed dilated pupils on some.”

  “What about the guest horses?” Colin asked.

  “All moved elsewhere, at the first sign of illness. But your family’s personal mounts are fit as fiddles—so far. It’s the racehorses and hunters that are affected.”

  “And you’ve tried all the traditional cures for colic?” Holly asked.

  Peterson’s gaze traveled up and down her cloaked form, and Colin experienced a moment’s remorse in having exposed her to speculation. The expression of concern never slipped from the veterinarian’s features, however. If he found anything unusual about the two of them having traveled through the night together, he didn’t show it.

  “That we have, miss.” The man gestured to the archway
that separated the two wings of the stables. “The grooms have been alternating the sick animals, walking them all night long. I’ve ordered extra water and they’ve had nothing to eat but the purest hay.”

  “Has anyone inspected the grain?”

  “Yes, my lord. It appears sound, but . . .”

  Peterson trailed off. He and Colin both knew that a blight might not be apparent to the naked eye. “I want samples brought to my office.”

  “Lady Harrow ordered samples sent to London, sir, to her husband.”

  “Good.” Colin pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to blink the fatigue from his eyes. “Still, I’d like to run my own analysis. Bring me clearly labeled samples of the hay and the water. I need to know exactly where each sample comes from.”

  “The water comes from our own wells, my lord.”

  “Even so. Wells have been known to become poisoned.”

  Holly shot him a sharp look but said nothing.

  “My lord, the horses are all fed from the same sources. If there was a contagion of some kind, they’d all have fallen ill.”

  Colin thought a moment, and then a notion struck him. “Are you sure all the horses are consuming the same feed? Didn’t some of our guests bring their own feed formulas for the horses they boarded here for the races? Could some of it have been left behind and gotten mixed in with our own?”

  “My word, sir, it’s possible.”

  “Get me those samples.” Colin filled his lungs with misty, predawn air and gazed up at the house. “Where is my sister?”

  “Retired, I believe, sir, though she was here helping direct the grooms until long after midnight. I caught her yawning and insisted she get some rest. Your brothers helped as well. We needed as many hands as possible to keep the horses moving.”