Lord of Fates: A Complete Historical Regency Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by K. J. Jackson

  And he had almost just lost her. Damn.

  A quiver ran through her body, and Rowen was acutely reminded that she was naked in his arms.

  For one brief second, he imagined. Imagined what really holding her, naked in his arms, would be like. He clamped down on his imagination the second his body began to react to that very thought.

  He heaved a sigh. The last thing he needed was to be hard as a rock behind her.

  He looked at Pepe, sleeping soundly by the fire. The dog had barely twitched since they had made it here. Rowen’s anger came back full force.

  He let it take him over. Better anger than where his mind was headed.

  It was just when his anger had reached a peak that Wynne jerked and moaned. He glanced down at what he could see of her profile, and her long lashes started to flutter open.

  He stilled, not moving as her eyes opened fully. She stared at the low fire for a long minute, not shifting from him, not turning her head to look at him.

  “I am naked.” Her words came out ragged.

  “Yes. But my shirt is covering some of you.”

  She nodded, her cheek rubbing on his arm. “The important parts. And you are warm. And naked as well.”

  “I have breeches on.” Rowen tried to keep the smile out of his voice. “Do you want me to move away?”

  It took her a few seconds to decide. “No. You are warm and my bones are still cold. As long as you are all right with the position.”

  “I will survive.”

  Pepe’s brown and white head popped up at the conversation. Interested, but not interested enough to move from his lazy spot by the fire.

  Rowen gave a slight head shake at the dog, his anger stoked. “Why the hell did you go after a dog—a damn dog, Wynne—into a damn bog?”

  She turned her head, eyes stretching to see him. “Is that what that was? We do not have those on the mountain. I did not know. And Pepe was in the middle of it. I got stuck a couple of times but pulled myself out.”

  “Blast it, Wynne—you got stuck, yet you kept on?”

  She let her cheek fall back onto his arm, face to the fire. “Yes.”

  His arms tightened around her. “So why keep going, Wynne? Idiocy. It is not hard to figure out the danger of it.”

  “Ouch—my shoulder, Rowe.”

  He forced his arms to relax around her, biting off his next words.

  “I did not know, Rowe.” Her voice was tired, meek. “I thought the muck could get my feet. Nothing more. And Pepe was stuck, yelping. I did not imagine...”

  “But a damn dog, Wynne. It was the middle of the night. You should not have gone to begin with.”

  She was silent at his words, and Rowen watched as she closed her eyes, bowing her chin to her chest.

  They both stilled, neither moving for long moments.

  “How can I get you to understand this, Rowe?” She opened her eyes and craned her face to him again, looking for his eyes. “When you see someone drowning, Rowe, do you let them sink?”

  Drowning? What the hell was she talking about?

  “Do you let them sink, Rowe?” Her voice demanded he answer.

  He shook his head.

  She pushed herself upright, her left hand clutching his shirt in front of her chest as she turned to him. “No—exactly—you go after them. You dive in and try to help them—you give them everything you have in order to save them. You do not think about it, you just do.”

  Her head angled to Pepe, still by the fire. “That dog is the last thing keeping the dowager afloat. The dowager is drowning, Rowe. Drowning. In grief. In a life that has cut her at the knees at every turn. And Pepe is her last line to staying in the land of the living.” Her voice turned vehement. “So yes. Hell, yes, I go after the damn dog.”

  “She does not deserve for you to gamble your life for a dog’s.”

  “And I do not get to judge her. I offered to go after Pepe. That was me.”

  “But she came to you, Wynne—that in itself was her asking.”

  “Possibly. But you cannot understand what she has lost, Rowe—it is grief so deep, so visceral, and it has not dulled in the slightest since her son died. And that dog has been her salvation.”

  Rowen looked away, staring at the embers of the fire.

  “You dive in like you did with me tonight, Rowe. Like you did that first day.” She gingerly eased her right arm up to hold the shirt, and her left hand went to his face, touching his cheek, pulling it so he would look at her. “The first day you met me, Rowe. I was drowning and you dove in and saved me. You did that, and you did not think. You just did. You did not judge whether or not I deserved it. It is the same that I do with the duchess.”

  Rowen could stand it no longer. He leaned forward, capturing her face, his thumbs landing on her cheekbones. It cut off her words, as intended.

  And now Rowen wanted more.

  She hadn’t jerked away from his touch, her hazel eyes holding his. Surprise in her eyes, curiosity, but not worry.

  He moved in on her, his lips meeting hers. Soft. No resistance to his mouth.

  Lust had urged him to do it, and now that he made contact, his chest tightened. He needed more. Much more.

  He deepened the kiss, tilting her head, slipping his tongue between her parted lips. She gave over to it willingly, and the softest moan came from her, vibrating through Rowen.

  Damn. He shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have tasted what his body now demanded to have. Demanded so insistently, it made him pull away.

  Cheeks flushed, her eyes opened to him. “That…what was that?”

  His hands did not drop from her face. “You. You are beyond…beyond compare.”

  “I did not realize.” Confusion set into her hazel eyes. “Is that bad?”

  “You care too much, Wynne. Too insanely much—you have no regard for your own safety when it comes to saving others. Me. The dog. It is something that is wholly unique unto you.”

  “How could I not want to help, Rowe? To help others find peace? For the duchess.” Her fingers went up to touch his jaw. “For you?”

  “And that is exactly why I kissed you, Wynne.”

  “So kiss me again.”

  He groaned. “I have never needed to be an honorable man, Wynne, and you are suddenly testing me like I never imagined I would be tested.”

  Reluctantly, his hands dropped from her face and he leaned away, but he could not stop his eyes from dropping down her body. Her bare arms. Naked legs folded under her. The line on her thighs where his shirt hung, hiding her skin from him.

  He swore to himself. What he wouldn’t give for a gust of wind to move that fabric. He looked away to the fire. “You have no clothes on, Wynne. And I do not possess enough willpower to stop this if I kiss you again.”

  She looked crestfallen. “So that is it? You will never?”

  Rowen smiled, pushing himself up to his feet. He needed to extract himself before he did something they would both regret.

  Hell—truth was, he would not regret it in the slightest. He would revel in it—in her—and feel no remorse.

  Rowen stood. “I never said never, Wynne. This is not the right place. Right time.”

  Her hazel eyes huge, she looked up at him. Even more beautiful than a moment ago, her lips still raw from his kiss, the shirt lowered ever so slightly. But still incredibly innocent. “When is the right time?”

  He chuckled. “When you have had a hot bath. When your shoulder has healed enough to move your arm properly. When you are not covered only by one thin shirt.”

  She nodded.

  “I do not think you should try to make the way back through the woods with bare feet,” Rowen said, changing the topic. “Will you be fine here while I get Phalos and come back for you? I believe the sun will be showing soon.”

  “Yes. But you need your shirt, and I…” Her eyes darted around the room. “I cannot move without...”

  “Without dropping the shirt?” Rowen could not hide a smirk.

/>   “Yes. And do not laugh. I am quite stuck down here.”

  Rowen bowed his head to her. “I will wait outside. Your dress is wrecked down the back, so use my jacket to wrap yourself against the chill.”

  She nodded, and Rowen stepped out into the early morning darkness.

  The coolness hit him, clearing his senses. But it did nothing for his desire.

  He sighed.

  Fate was laughing at him—that he knew.

  { Chapter 8 • Worth of a Duke }

  Wynne stared at the white piece of vellum resting on the flat board sitting on her lap. Charcoal darkening her thumb and forefinger, her hand was motionless above the newly started sketch of Pepe.

  She had nearly completed the dog on the portrait, him proudly sitting in the dowager’s lap. But Wynne had now rethought his entire countenance in the painting. After last night, she wanted him, at the very least, impish.

  She couldn’t fault him for running off. He was a dog chasing a full moon and that was what dogs did. That he had gotten stuck in the moors wasn’t his fault.

  Since getting the quirk of Pepe’s head just right, Wynne had been motionless, losing time as the image of Rowen, half-naked in front of her, kept filling her mind. His chest. The hard lines of his muscles. No matter how valiantly she tried to shove the image to the back of her brain, he kept appearing.

  Half naked and kissing her.

  Half naked, kissing her, with his hands on her bare skin.

  And she had loved it. For how she should feel shame at the moment, she felt nothing but warmth. Nothing but right. Nothing but wanting it to continue.

  She had kissed more than one boy from the mountains—but that was what they were: boys. So clearly boys when compared to Rowen. And none of them had ever come close to creating the fire deep inside of her that Rowen did.

  How could she think of anything else?

  A knock on the door made her jump, the charcoal dropping from her fingers. It took her a second to remember that no one could see into her mind, and she cleared her throat.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened and Rowen stepped into the room. He wore a fresh white linen shirt, rolled up at the sleeves per usual, and buckskin breeches that disappeared into his tall boots. His eyes swept the room.

  “You are alone?”

  “Yes. The duchess was tired after waiting up all night for Pepe. And physically exhausted. She near drooped when she came in here.”

  “It serves her well.”

  Wynne’s eyes went to coffered ceiling. “It was not her fault, Rowe.”

  “I disagree.” He stopped in front of her, looking down, watching her face. “But I did not come in here to argue.”

  Her head cocked, curious. “No?”

  “No. Did the dowager procure new boots for you? A cloak?”

  “She did.”

  “Are you tired?”

  She should be—she hadn’t slept since they arrived back at the castle in the early morning light, but Wynne was nothing close to tired at the moment. Not since Rowen walked in the door. “No. Near-death apparently makes me want to be awake.”

  “Would you like fresh air? I have to walk down to the stables.”

  Wynne blinked, momentarily stupefied.

  The offer came random and was completely unexpected. But time with Rowen. This man that had just kissed her hours earlier. She wasn’t about to pass on the opportunity.

  She set the charcoal, vellum, and board onto the table next to her and stood up. “Yes. I am not producing much of anything right now.”

  He glanced at the sketch as she moved it and a smile crossed his face. “Good. It shows the bugger’s naughtiness.” He looked to her. “Boots and overcoat first. It is sunny, but still chilly out.”

  Within a few minutes, Wynne found an overcoat and boots in the wardrobe the dowager had cobbled together for her, and Rowen was ushering her through the maze of hallways to an old wooden door.

  She stepped into the sunshine, squinting until her eyes adjusted to the light. It had been days of mostly grey since she had arrived, and the sun instantly warmed her cheeks.

  Slowing until Rowen fell in step beside her, Wynne took in this side of the castle. It had the same empty, downward slope that surrounded the outer walls, but she could see a break in the tree line with a graveled drive going into it. Wynne assumed the drive led to the stables.

  “How is your arm—your shoulder?” Rowen pointed to her right shoulder as they walked.

  “Sore. But it does not pain too much. How did you know what to do to fix it?”

  “Working around horses—breaking them in—I have had to wrangle more than a few shoulders back into place. But I will admit the first few times I did it were not nearly as successful as yours last night. Your shoulder slipped back into place fairly easily. It helped that you did not fight me.”

  “I did not know that I had a choice.” She looked up at his profile. “You manhandle me without much effort.”

  He chuckled, but did not argue her point as they reached the drive and his boots crunched onto the crushed gravel of the path.

  “I would like to paint you, Rowe. I truly would.”

  His eyes went to the ground without looking her way. “Why?”

  “I like to paint interesting things. And you, Rowen, are interesting.”

  His cheek, grizzled with dark stubble, rose in a soft smile as he looked down at her. “Again, I would never allow it. I know your methods.”

  She laughed. “True. It would unearth more of you than I would guess you are willing to let see the light of day.”

  His smile slid away. “I am trying hard to not let you see much of me, Wynne. Things you can never know of me.”

  His words, soft and earnest, made her breath catch in her throat. They walked in silence a few steps.

  But Wynne could not let it go that easily. Not if it could be her way into his mind.

  She looked up at him. “But that does not mean I should not do it. That is exactly what I want to see of you. To know the things you do not tell me. To know you.”

  The smile returned to his lips, his eyes on the path, no words in his mouth.

  She bit the inside of her lip. Rowen was stepping very carefully against being drawn into an argument. Suspicious.

  The trees parted in front of them, and Wynne sped up. An enormous clearing, as far as the eye could see, met them, with rolling pastures dotted with horses. Some were in groups, some alone, distant spots in the pastures. Right in front of Wynne stood three long stables lined up, with a two-story brick house off to her left, snugged to the woods.

  She looked up at Rowen. “This has been down here the whole time? This is where you disappear to? I thought you were spending all that time planning the destruction of the castle.”

  “I have more to do with my time than to aggravate the duchess, Wynne. This is the reason that I plan on keeping any of the castle in place—it needs to welcome visitors—horsemen.”

  Wynne stopped walking, taking in the scope of the area in front of her. “Are all of those stables filled? I know you said you dealt in horses. But there must be one hundred stalls here.”

  “One-hundred-and-sixty-eight, as of right now. And yes, most of them are full. I plan on building at least two more structures, probably bigger, on the estate.”

  “The dowager allows this?”

  Rowen’s head snapped to her, but his voice stayed even. “She does not have a say. The estate is mine to do with as I wish, Wynne.”

  Wynne nodded, regretting her blurt. Rowen was actually walking with her, talking with her, showing her something that clearly meant a tremendous amount to him, and she had brought up the duchess. The one thing that she knew, without fail, raised his ire.

  “Please, show me inside. Is Phalos in there? I expected you to come back with him this morning.”

  “He is. But he looked slightly slow so early in the morning, and I did not want him carrying your extra weight—as light as you are.”
>
  They walked down a slight slope to the first stable. The middle stable looked to be the oldest; the adjacent ones looked quite new.

  Stepping aside as a stable boy led a white speckled horse out from the main door, Rowen gave him a wave. Wynne’s eyes had to adjust as she moved from the sun into the dark stable, following Rowen to the fifth stall on the right.

  Rowen opened the waist-high stall door and went in, pulling an apple from his pocket as he patted Phalos’s neck.

  Wynne followed him into the stall, stopping in front of the dark horse. Her palm went onto the spot on his nose where his hair thinned, his hot breath coming from his nostril and warming her wrist. Rowen fed him the apple.

  “He is a beautiful horse, Rowe. Older, but I imagine in his prime he was a sight to behold. He has more of a wise, noble dignity now. How did you come about him?”

  “He was a war horse. He was not on the list, but he was more than worth saving.”

  “A war horse?” Wynne looked to him. “You were in a war? Which war?”

  Rowen’s attention went to her. “Even with your American accent, Wynne, I do forget sometimes that you do not know of England. The Napoleonic wars—with France. Six years ago.”

  “Did you participate in much fighting?”

  “I did.”

  His eyes did not leave hers, but she could tell his answer was not inviting deeper questions.

  Wynne rubbed Phalos’s nose, leaning in and rubbing her cheek on his smooth hair. “What did you mean, Phalos was not on the list?”

  “It was what I was charged to do during the wars. Save the most important horses, the ones with lineage, the ones that, were they to be lost, would be a disgrace to the world.”

  Rowen’s hand went under Phalos’s mane, scratching. “The innocents that are ensnared in the folly of man are a sin. Too many innocents—horses, women, children—were caught in those wars. But we managed to save a number of horses—horses that were worth risking all for.”

  “Are many of them here?”

  Rowen gave a half nod, moving back along Phalos, his hand trailing just below the horse’s spine. “Some. Some have since died of old age. The younger ones we have spread out to where they can be bred, and many were returned to the original owners—no matter their nationality—when we could. Our mission was solely to keep them safe.”