Recklessly Yours

by Allison Chase

Colin nodded, glad to hear the family was getting much-needed rest. Exhaustion dragged at his bones, but not merely due to the present crisis. He’d spent his lifetime holding his family together, mediating, consoling, encouraging, protecting . . . only to be faced now with circumstances that stretched beyond his control. What would happen should events continue careening down their present course? What future would there be for the Ashworth family? Financially, they would remain unscathed, for the bulk of their fortune came from other sources. But these horses provided so much more than money, rewards such as pride and a sense of accomplishment.

  He extended his arm to Holly. He found himself needing the support of her stubborn spirit, her frankness; heaven help him, even her rebukes bolstered him, forced him to admit the truth and take action, rather than brood and accept defeat.

  He needed that now. Needed to believe, as she did, that they could fight their way to happiness. As if sensing his need, she slid her hand into the crook of his arm and walked with him across the forecourt to the heavy door that led directly into the office he kept here in the stables. Before they went inside, he turned back to Peterson. “Would you send one of the grooms up to the house to ask that tea be brought down, please?”

  “The kitchen sent down some fresh buns and oatcakes not a quarter hour ago. I’ll have some brought in to you.”

  Inside, a groom appeared and lit the brazier. Some minutes later Peterson himself brought in a tray of refreshments. Holly had removed the cloak she’d borrowed from the dowager duchess and stood warming her hands in front of the hissing coal heater. Colin dragged the only other chair besides his own closer to the desk.

  “Come and sit. Have something to eat.”

  “We’ve been sitting for hours and hours.” She sent a rueful glance over her shoulder, but then turned and approached the desk. “But something hot and filling sounds heavenly.” She unstacked two cups and placed them on their saucers. She poured tea into both, spooned in some sugar, and added trickles of milk. Then she selected a treacle bun from the platter Peterson had brought.

  Colin perched on the corner of the desk and drained half his tea, not caring that the hot liquid burned his tongue. The brew was black and strong, precisely what he needed to start his mind working. All he required now were the samples.

  He held out a hand. “Come here, please.”

  She popped a remaining morsel of bun into her mouth and set her teacup down. When she came to stand in the V of his knees, he drained the last of his tea, set it aside, and encircled her waist with his arms. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved on the way here.”

  “For which behavior?” Her eyebrow rose in a show of censure, while the twitch of her lips hinted at humor. “The dismissal or the ravishment?”

  Her forthrightness drew a laugh from him in spite of everything. “Both, I suppose. Holly . . .” He ran his gaze over her—her lovely figure with its athletic curves, her straight, brave posture, her beautiful face with its endearing blend of fortitude and innocence. He reached up to caress her cheek. “The time isn’t right for us.”

  Her eyebrow arched higher. “Do you think there will ever be a perfect time?”

  “Perhaps, someday . . .”

  She pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “First we have horses to diagnose and cure.”

  As if on cue, a knock at the door separated them. She returned to the heat of the brazier; he opened the door and admitted three young grooms, their arms filled with sacks, scripted notes pinned to each. A fourth groom carrying a bucket half filled with water followed them into the room.

  “Your samples, my lord,” one of them said.

  Colin helped the lads arrange the parcels on the long table against the far wall of the office. They exited single file and shut the door behind them. Colin opened a cabinet and reached inside.

  Behind him, Holly exclaimed, “Oh, is that what I think it is?”

  He drew out the wood and brass contraption, which appeared much like a short telescope mounted on a wooden stand, and set it on the table. “It’s a microscope.”

  She heaved an appreciative sigh and joined him at the table. “It’s beautiful. Even Simon doesn’t have one as grand as this.”

  “It’s my own design.”

  She bestowed upon him perhaps the proudest smile anyone had ever afforded him . . . the sort of approval a young boy longs to see on his father’s face, but which, of course, he never had.

  “May I?” she said with a note of awe. With a forefinger she reached out, nearly but not quite touching one of the brass brackets. He gestured his permission, and she leaned over to place an eye over the viewing lens. She wiggled the small round mirror set in the base. “I don’t see anything.”

  “That’s because you need more light, and something to examine.” He’d already moved across the room to the shelves where he stored the small lanterns he had designed specifically for this purpose. With polished steel reflectors that directed the light exactly where he needed it, he could illuminate the tiniest particle brightly enough to be explored through the telescope’s lens. Returning to the table, he lit the lanterns and reached for the first of the samples. “I’ll need your help,” he said.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  He nodded toward his desk. “You’ll find a notation tablet and pencils. Bring them here. You’re going to record my findings.”

  “Yes, sir,” came her enthusiastic reply, followed by a delighted little laugh. “This is how Ivy must have felt the first time she assisted Simon in his laboratory.” Her gaze met his and her face immediately fell. “Colin, I’m sorry. This is no time for merriment.”

  He smiled sadly. “No. But I do understand. I was once a young science student.” After selecting a scoop from an assortment hung on the wall just above the table, he opened the first of the sample bags, poured a small amount of grain into a mortar, and ground it into a powder. From a drawer he took two glass specimen plates, sandwiched a pinch of powder between them, and set them into the base of the microscope. “Now then, let’s see if we can’t determine what the devil is going on here.”

  Nearly two hours later Colin removed the last specimen from the microscope and set it onto the tabletop with a force that made Holly flinch. She peered around his shoulder to see if the plates had shattered beneath his hand, but seeing neither bits of glass nor blood, she gave a little sigh of relief.

  And of frustration. They’d gone through every sample of grain and hay as well as numerous droplets of the water and discovered nothing unusual. Holly had taken copious notes, copying down nearly every word Colin had spoken, even what he had absently murmured under his breath.

  He propped his elbows on the table and let his head fall into his hands. “It’s useless. I see no sign of any sort of blight.”

  The flatness of his tone worried her. He was once more losing hope, and with it his confidence in his abilities as both a scientist and a horse breeder. Her hand hovered over his sagging shoulder; uncertain how best to offer comfort, she settled her palm against the curve of his neck. “Perhaps we missed something.”

  His eyes were glazed and red-rimmed from anxiety, lack of sleep, and the intensive concentration of the past two hours. “Maybe the answer is under my nose. I’ve been looking for a foreign element. Perhaps it’s the feed itself. Pass me another sampling.”

  “Pressed onto a new slide?”

  “No. Just bring me a scoopful.”

  When she did, he brought the lantern closer, poured the feed onto the table in front of him and leaned down to examine it closely. He sat like that for some minutes, running his fingertips through the grains, separating them, piling them together, rolling them apart. Then he picked up a leafy granule between his thumb and forefinger and peered at it with one eye.

  “There is something about the color of some of this grain . . . it’s too green. . . .” His head snapped up. “I need the library. Let’s go up to the house.”

  He gathered up the strewn piles of her notes and grabbed th
e feed bag. Without looking back to see if she followed, he was out the door.

  She half ran to keep up across the cobbled forecourt and through the gardens. Glimmers of dawn reflected on the house’s black windows, except at the lowest level where the kitchen staff were awake and preparing the day’s meals. Whiffs of baking bread and savory meats floated on the breeze, making Holly’s stomach rumble despite the breakfast they’d shared. Colin appeared oblivious as he took the terrace steps two at a time. At the main door that led into the rear corridor, a bleary-eyed footman admitted them. Colin murmured a preoccupied thank-you and kept going, practically bounding down the hallway to the library.

  Holly couldn’t step across that threshold without remembering what had occurred the last time she’d entered that room. Their first embraces, their first kiss. The first time she’d heard her Christian name fall gently from his lips.

  Colin strode to the desk, found a box of lucifers and began lighting the lamps. A mellow glow settled over the settee where he’d first held her, where her passion had first awakened. She compressed her lips and angled her gaze away. “What can I do to help?”

  He seemed not to hear her as he surveyed the bookshelves. Then he said, “Look for books on plants and horticulture.”

  They each began snatching books off the shelves. When a small pile had grown on the desk, he sat and began flipping through the first volume. Holly lifted one. “What are we looking for?”

  “Something I couldn’t identify through my microscope, nor with my naked eye, but which I’m almost positive doesn’t belong in horse feed.”

  “Such as?”

  “Poisonous plants that could have gotten mixed up in the feed.”

  “Good lord.”

  Painstakingly they read through countless plant descriptions and compared the tiny, mysteriously green particles he’d isolated with the sketches and engravings contained in the books.

  “I hadn’t realized how many species of plant life are poisonous.” She pointed to a sketch of a trumpet-shaped blossom. “A flower as lovely as the lily, for example.”

  “I don’t think it’s a flower we’re looking for,” he mumbled, “but something heartier, with tougher leaves and stems.” He snapped a book shut, making her jump. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he leaned his elbows on the desktop.

  “We will find it,” she said.

  “Not if I’m mistaken.” He lifted his head and balled his hands into fists. “This may be beyond my capabilities.”

  The statement chilled her. If a man educated at one of Europe’s most prestigious universities, who associated regularly with some of the finest minds in the scientific world, could not find the answer, then. . . .

  “You mustn’t lose hope.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Terrible things happen in this world. Why should the Ashworths be immune?”

  She had no answer for him.

  “Because you see, this is about more than saving horses. They are magnificent beings, yes, and surely worth our most prodigious efforts. But it’s also about the well-being of my family. These horses, the stud—it is who we are. What we are about. It may sound melodramatic, but can you understand?”

  “I can, yes.”

  He reached for another book, pulled it to him and, like a man reconciled to a dismal fate, began thumbing through the pages. Her gaze settled on the bag of grain he had set on a corner of the desk. She slid a lamp closer, thrust her hand into the bag, and then examined the contents of her palm. She did this several times, each time digging deeper. Colin went on reading. Finally, she noticed an inch-long particle of plant matter in her palm, a frond that, if ground up smaller, would not have caught their attention among the granules. “Colin, this looks like a bit of fern mixed in with the grains. Is that correct in horse feed?”

  He pushed the book away. “No, that is not correct. Let me see.”

  He held out his hand, and she tipped the feed from her palm into his. Then she slid the lamp close to his elbow. He studied the specimen, his frown deepening. Without looking up, he said, “Open that book.” He gestured with his chin. “The one on indigenous ground cover.”

  The slight tremor in his voice filled her with urgency. She fumbled the book and it thwacked to the floor. Once she had retrieved it, he said, “Find the entry for bracken.”

  “Bracken? But doesn’t that grow—”

  “Everywhere. And it’s poisonous to horses. A nibble or two won’t hurt them, but if they ingest large amounts over time . . .” He sat up straighter.

  She opened the book, flipped through and found the entry. She began reading out loud, describing the traits and habitat, but Colin stopped her. “Do they list the symptoms of livestock poisoning?”

  She used her finger to skim down the page. “Unsteadiness, skittishness, stomach pain, blockage of the intestines . . . dilated pupils.” She stopped short, compressed her lips, and met his gaze. “This is it, isn’t it?”

  He lurched out of his seat to read the entry over her shoulder. Then he grabbed her, spun her around and kissed her breathless.

  He pulled his lips away, his own stretched in an elated grin. “Wait here. I want to get a message down to Mr. Peterson.”

  He sprinted from the room, returning within minutes, his step buoyant, his relief palpable. She had begun replacing the books on the shelves. He crossed the room, took the stack from her arms, dropped them onto the nearest tabletop, and took her in his arms. He danced her in circles to a silent waltz.

  “Now that we know what it is, they’ll live.” He sounded youthful, filled with a childlike wonderment. He brought them to a halt. “Thank you. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. But I think I only noticed the frond because . . .”

  “Because you hadn’t given up hope, as I had,” he finished for her. When she nodded, he kissed her brow, then straightened, looking sheepish. “You’ll laugh at me, but I had actually begun to believe Briannon was at work here. Some scientist, eh?”

  Chapter 26

  Holly reached her arms around his neck. “The last thing I imagine Briannon would ever do is harm innocent horses.”

  “You say that like you believe in her.”

  “I think I do believe in her spirit, and what she stands for. Your grandmother told me that Briannon doesn’t seek retribution, but resolution. Curse or no, we have free will, the choice to do what is right, no matter what.”

  A slight smile tugged at his mouth. “Was I right to steal the colt, then?”

  “Oh, Colin.” An ache pinching her throat, she pressed her face to his shirtfront. He gently stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad. I meant it as a joke. Because you see, suddenly I’m not quite as apprehensive of the future as I was.” He cupped her damp cheeks in his palms and lifted her face. “I can’t quite explain it, but you’ve made me . . . I don’t know . . . believe. And no one has ever been able to do that for me before.”

  As his words dissipated he took her mouth—took it as though she belonged to him, as if she always would, and the tears that ran down her cheeks became joyful. She held on to him and kissed him back, until his mouth slid away from hers and he lifted her into his arms.

  The room blurred as he brought her to the settee and laid her across the cushions. Briefly he left her to lock the library doors. When he returned, the look on his face frightened her even as it thrilled her, and she made a swift decision.

  She melted into the cushions as he pressed his lips to hers in a conflagration of possessiveness that left her heart pounding. He left her briefly again, opened a cabinet, and retrieved a dark blanket that proved lusciously soft when he tucked it beneath her.

  If she expected the next moments to be a heated rush of mindless passion, she was only partly right. Oh, her body heated by impossible degrees, and her thoughts dissolved to mindless pleasure as Colin slowly stripped away her clothing. Ah, but there was no rush. No haphazard tangle of limbs. No fr
enzy of kissing and groping.

  But then, she had momentarily forgotten the scientist in him, the careful observer who formed a meticulous plan for everything he did. Just as they’d examined and catalogued the samples, Colin took stock of all of her. From the kisses he planted on the arches of her feet, the undersides of her knees, the inner sides of her thighs . . . to the contours his fingertips traced with torturous caresses, he moved with purpose, precision.

  And slowly but relentlessly he drove her to a mindless, frenzied brink, until she fisted her fingers in his hair and clenched her teeth to stifle her cries.

  At some point, she didn’t know when, he’d shed his coat, his waistcoat, and cravat. With both hands she reached up and worked the laces of his shirt free, and with mounting passion spurring her, she tugged the garment over his head. Ah, she loved his chest, hard and rippled, the muscles deeply carved by the hand of some masterful god . . . or goddess. The thought curved her lips to a smile, one that put a temporary halt to his ministrations.

  “What?”

  She wanted to tell him how happy he made her. How eagerly she would spend the rest of her life at his side, for better or worse. But she feared the words would remind him of all they still faced and would drive him away. She didn’t want him to think, didn’t want his sense of duty to rise up or awaken his instincts to protect her.

  She pulled his head back down, and as their mouths joined she slipped her hand between their bodies and plucked his breeches flap open. Using her other hand as well, she tugged his breeches lower to expose the chiseled lines of his hips.

  His shaft rose against her belly, but just as quickly slid lower to prod between her thighs. “Holly . . .” His tongue swept her lips, speared between them, then slowly retreated. “I am who I am. I can offer nothing. . . .”

  “I’m not asking for anything,” she whispered. “Only you. Only now.”

  “What I feel for you . . . I believe . . .”

  The tip of his shaft nudged at her nether lips. He rocked his hips and slid inside her. As in the carriage, he reached the barrier and stopped. “I believe if I searched forever I’ll never find another woman like you.” He gave a thrust that threatened to shatter the barrier, that sent a jolt of pain . . . yet not quite pain . . . shuddering through her.