The Soul of a Storme

by SOOKOO, SANDRA

  A quarter of an hour was all it took to reach the stables. The irritation was shoved aside for a moment when he mounted a gray stallion with black dappling on his hindquarters. The black mane and tail provided a sharp contrast and the equine’s personality seemed to match Drew’s. Perhaps even animals tired of the days of inactivity, too.

  “Well now. Let’s see what you’re capable of, shall we?” he told the horse, whose name was Ares.

  The animal tossed his head and followed Drew’s every movement with his dark eyes.

  “Be careful with him, my lord,” the stable master warned as he pushed his slouch-style cap up on his forehead and scratched his grizzled hair. “He doesn’t like many people, and if you let him, he’ll lead you on a merry chase.”

  “I think he and I shall get on splendidly.” For he wasn’t all that keen on the company of people either. Drew patted the horse’s neck. The scents of hay and leather filled his nostrils. Oddly enough, it brought a modicum of comfort, for riding was something he remembered from his childhood when he and his father would go out in the early morning hours to check the estate. I should have appreciated that time more.

  He shoved away the thought. Now was not the time for introspection. “Let’s fly, Ares, and put distance between us and what life has become.”

  With the reins clutched in his gloved hands, he spurred his booted heels into the horse’s sides, and they took off as if the hounds of hell were chasing them.

  For the next hour, Drew gave the stallion his head. They ran neck or nothing through the countryside, tore through the village commons and main streets before hitting the wide-open spaces once more. Each thunder of hooves echoed in his blood and soon his pulse set the same cadence. The power and life of the beast beneath him brought a semblance of order to his world that solitude or discussion never could. This was as close as he came to indulging in freedom and forgetting his responsibilities as well as the emotions plaguing him.

  The things he could never control.

  The feelings that would eventually consume him.

  By the time he reached the main road that would lead to the lane and his manor house, his mood had improved by an increment. Though the horse heaved for breath and Drew’s own muscles ached pleasantly from the run, he kept up an intense gallop while leaning low over Ares’ neck. “Ah, you beautiful beast! You’ve done marvelously this day,” he crooned into the horse’s ear. Riding might tame the things that plagued him. “You’ve earned an extra helping of oats, I’d say.” A triumphant laugh escaped him as the equine tossed his head. To be as free as this. Perhaps the country did have a few positives that London didn’t.

  A flash of brown caught in the corner of his vision. “What the devil?” Drew straightened in his saddle. Damn and blast. A woman walked the road, parallel to the path he bore down. A straw bonnet sat on her head, but her focus was at the ground. Never once did she look up. Lost in her thoughts? He waved an arm in the hopes of gaining her attention. “Get off the bloody road!” Anxiety built in his chest, for this was yet another problem waiting to strike.

  Either she didn’t hear him, or she didn’t care, for her course wasn’t altered. Ares tossed his head and whinnied, perhaps trying in his own way to warn the pedestrian.

  “Move, you stubborn female!” His bellow finally reached her ears. As he raced to her location while pulling tight on the reins, the woman dove into the slight depression that followed the road. The basket she carried went flying from her hand; the contents decorating the meadow grass, and the bonnet she wore tilted crazily off the back of her head.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered as the horse slowed to a trot. Manipulating the reins, Drew turned his mount about and returned to the woman’s location. His chest was still tight, and his pulse pounded in his temples. “Why the deuce wouldn’t you move?” She sat, apparently stunned on the ground, the ugly brown bonnet askew, the silver-rimmed spectacles dangling off one ear, her plain brown skirting rucked up to her knees revealing sturdy brown half-boots and slender calves encased in black stockings. From the cut and style of her clothing, she wasn’t a member of the ton.

  Thank God. That would have been a disaster. Adding accidental murder by equine to the list of his various shortcomings wouldn’t do at all. As it was, begging the pardon of a villager would come with its own issues, but he would manage.

  Then annoyance surged to cover the relief and mix with the crushing anxiety. “It would behoove you in the future to have some intelligence and move off the road if you see a rider approaching at a fast clip.” His tone was cold and short as he glared at the outraged female person in the ditch. “Otherwise, you’re liable to find yourself in jeopardy.” Honestly, who didn’t have enough sense to put themselves out of danger?

  “Is that so?” Both her blonde eyebrows rose. Ice hung from those few words. She dusted her gloved hands together, presumably to rid them of dirt.

  “I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t.” Would she now treat him to tears or a hysterical display? Damn, but he didn’t have the patience for such. “I could have killed you.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that, you dim-witted nob.” Slowly, as if cataloging possible injuries, the woman managed to stand but favored her left foot as soon as she put weight on it. Wrinkles and dust covered the brown skirting, and a sprig of meadow grass rested on the top of her equally brown spencer. She reminded him of a drab sparrow or some other dull bird. “Because you’re apparently too addlepated to make use of common sense, I would caution you to mind your surroundings when you’re racing like an imbecile down a public road.”

  What the deuce? Who did this woman think she was talking to, with insults to boot? Another spear of anger stabbed through him. Well, he wouldn’t tolerate it. He drew himself up fully in the saddle as Ares danced impatiently. “If I were you, I would hold my tongue.”

  “And if I were you, I’d correct my behavior post haste before you do even greater damage.” She huffed, and the breath ruffled an escaped tendril of blonde hair. Since the bonnet no longer covered her head, her tresses gleamed like gold in the sun. “What sort of man tears about the countryside as if all the demons of the Underworld were on his heels anyway?” With a trembling hand, she put the spectacles back into place on the bridge of her narrow nose. The lenses slightly magnified the richness of her brown eyes, turned a honey-hue in the bright morning light.

  No matter that fury wove through the dulcet tones of her voice and spoke to gentle breeding, Drew couldn’t let her challenge go unnoticed. “One who has the power to do what he pleases, especially in this area. A man, I might add, that you have no business addressing in such a manner.”

  “Ha!” She shook her head. A smudge of dirt marred her angular chin, and his gaze dipped further to along the slender column of her neck. “It’s people—men rather—like you who make the world we live in unstable and completely unfair, which leaves people like me always struggling for survival.”

  He rolled his eyes. Damnation. She was one of those crusaders or rabble-rousers that believed everyone in England should stand on the same societal footing. “Spare me your lectures, madam.”

  The woman sailed on regardless of his warning. In fact, she popped her hands on slightly rounded hips and glared. “You men, no doubt high on the instep, think all of us mortals should dance attendance on your every whim, as if we don’t matter or have our own thoughts, dreams.” She paused, no doubt because she’d run out of breath. Mottled red color filled her cheeks as fire flashed in her eyes.

  Bloody hell. No, she wasn’t an uninspired bird at all. In fact, in the avian world, she’d be a hawk, going in for the kill regardless of the other danger around her. Drew stared at her from his perch in the saddle while attempting to calm Ares, who danced with restless energy. Never had he been given a dressing down like that from a woman. It was both unsettling and exhilarating to exchange words with her. She had spirit, and for that she had his respect. Then he cleared his throat as a sense of responsibility sank in to mix
with everything else running roughshod through him. Long seconds of silence stretched between them, before he finally broke it and said, “I beg your pardon for turning you off the road.”

  The harsh frown pulling at her lips lessened slightly. “Actions will prove louder than words. I trust you won’t do such a thing again.”

  “I can’t promise that, for riding has been the one thing to date that has the ability to…” At the last second, he cut off his words. She didn’t deserve to know more about it.

  “Ah.” She roved her bright, inquisitive gazed over his person, and for one insane moment, he held his breath. “It’s quite obvious you rarely apologize or you don’t mean the one you just gave to me.”

  How the devil could she know that? His jaw dropped. The nerve of this tart-mouthed woman! Anger surged through his chest in a familiar hot rush. One of the buttons popped off his jacket. It sailed between his horse’s ears to fall onto the road. God, his valet wouldn’t be pleased that he’d done it… again. “You have no idea who I am or what my word means.” Second-guessing wormed its way into his confidence and ire. What exactly did his word mean in Derbyshire? He hadn’t been the earl his father was, didn’t know if he ever would be…

  When the woman attempted to take a step forward, she winced. Pain flitted briefly over her plain face. “Then perhaps you should enlighten me. Who are you? I can hardly wait to discover how you explain your importance.” A trace of mocking had set up in her tone as she crossed her arms at chest level.

  “Who am I?” He gripped the reins so tight in his hands that Ares tossed his head and danced about. Slowly, Drew released his hold, but his anger hit the boiling point. When he caught her cool gaze, calm trickled over him for a glorious second before annoyance trampled it into oblivion. How exceedingly odd. Nothing about this woman proclaimed peace or a safe haven. “I am the Earl of Hadleigh.”

  “Oh, drat.” The response was said beneath her breath. Red color stained her pale cheeks as she executed an awkward curtsy. “I apologize, my lord.” She kept her eyes downcast.

  And damn if he didn’t prefer the spitfire that had berated him over the demure picture she now made. “I’ll wager you don’t,” he said in a quiet voice. His lips twitched with amusement, and he almost smiled when she snapped her gaze to his once more, her chin tilted at a stubborn angle. “An argument like that carries some truth.” When he expected a cutting response, he received silence instead. A niggle of cold disappointment bored through his chest. “Regardless, do you require assistance reaching your home?” The least he could do was not be such an arse… or needle her into displaying that high temper, for he rather enjoyed their conversation. It provided the same sort of freedom galloping did.

  Indecision warred with defiance on her expressive but plain face. “While pride demands I say no, the two miles I’ve yet to go argue otherwise.” She shrugged. “I’d rather not hobble there, and I also hope there’s no permanent damage to my ankle.”

  “Perhaps you do harbor some intelligence after all,” Drew couldn’t resist saying as he dismounted. When she sputtered and searched for a reply, he flashed a grin. God, how long had it been since he’d been properly entertained and… relaxed enough to smile? “Let me help.”

  Her chin went up again into a stubborn set that tagged his interest. “I can manage.”

  “That I rather doubt, and since from your own admission I’m little better than a nodcock, I’m certain I can gather your belongings.” After plunging into the depression, he recovered the willow basket and then tracked down her scattered possessions—a silk fan, two red apples, a few candles, a packet of tea, a bag of peppermints, and most surprising of all, a pair of while silk stockings embroidered with green vines, pink roses, and a few blue birds. Immediately, his imagination leapt to life and he saw her slender legs encased in the hosiery that was much different than what she currently wore. A moan echoed through the chambers of his mind as he imagined caressing those legs before he went to roll one of the stockings down a delectable limb…

  Get hold of yourself, man. You aren’t in the market for a woman in any capacity.

  No, he wasn’t, but this one had managed to intrigue the hell out of him with one meeting. And he had no bloody idea of who she was. Without a word, he handed her the basket, being careful not to brush gloved fingers with hers, but those damned stockings or that vision wouldn’t leave him alone. What was her situation and why did he suddenly hope she wasn’t attached?

  “Thank you.” She looped the handle over her arm. The nicety sounded pulled from her, and grudgingly at that. Without looking at him, she limped from the depression to stand near Ares. As she stretched out a hand, the horse put his nose to her fingers.

  Interesting. She couldn’t be all harridan if the horse liked her. “Shall we continue then?” Daring much, Drew put his hands on either side of her waist. He more or less tossed her onto the horse’s back, and since it wasn’t a lady’s sidesaddle, she was forced to scramble into place and let her legs dangle over one side, her skirts hopelessly tangled.

  Her squeal of surprise or outrage caught his imagination as much as the stockings had. What sort of woman was she behind the penchant for plain speaking? For that matter, who the devil was she? “I… you could have given me a warning.” She fussed with the bonnet, and once it was properly on her head, he gave into a sigh of relief.

  Perhaps now that she was properly covered, she wouldn’t stir such naughty thoughts for something he didn’t need. “Yes, I could have, but I didn’t.” He mounted the horse and settled behind her, obliged to slide his arms around her to reach for the dangling reins. “Pardon the trespass,” he said with what he thought was indeed a cheeky grin as his chest rubbed against her shoulder.

  A squawk of outrage escaped her. “This is hardly proper, my lord,” she gasped out but didn’t turn her head to look at him.

  “Then you can hobble.” She was a rather pleasing bundle. A faint hint of violets and clover teased his nose as he slapped the reins.

  “Fine.” When he set them into motion, her precarious position demanded she secure her seat, and when she clutched at his shoulders, the action put her more firmly into his hold. “I appreciate this.” Once again, her tones had returned to their dulcet pitch, and he rather like that too.

  “You’re welcome. Where are you headed?”

  “Baronet Gearwell’s home. Two miles west of here.”

  His interest in her rose. How was she connected to the man? Not wishing to take her there and become embroiled in a thousand questions or be accused of compromising this woman, he guided Ares up the lane that led to Hadleigh Hall. “I’m not of a mind to meet the baronet today.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Fear quavered in her voice, but he couldn’t see her face thanks to the brim of the damned bonnet.

  Why was she afraid? Had rumors of his temperament already reached the country? Annoyance swelled his chest. “To Hadleigh Hall.”

  She straightened her spine, and the back of the headgear smashed into his chin. “But—”

  “I won’t have you talking in the village that I left you injured and without recourse on the roadside.”

  A snort escaped her. “I hardly gossip, in the village or otherwise.” Then she glanced up into his face. “You have no right!” Righteous indignation rang in her voice, and he couldn’t help his grin.

  Damn, but he rather liked it when she was in a temper more than when she wasn’t. “I have every right. I’m the earl, remember.”

  “Arrogant prick,” she mumbled beneath her breath. Her body was stiff with outrage. With a huff, she turned her head to stare at the road.

  Bloody hell. Tension fairly crackled between them. He felt more alive in her company than he ever had before. Why the devil was that?

  The remainder of the trip was conducted in silence, but Drew didn’t mind. With every movement of the horse, her hip rubbed against his length. That combined with her warm body between his arms, his right sleeve brushing her breasts ha
d his imagination inventing countless scenarios in his mind. Would she employ such fervor in the bedroom? By the time they arrived at the hall, he was well on his way to having a raging cockstand from the unaccustomed friction and thoughts.

  Of course, she protested when he assisted her from Ares’ back and carried her into the house. The butler followed, aghast, behind him until he reached the drawing room.

  “Jeffries, go to the kitchens and procure a cold compress and perhaps tea for the lady.” He had no idea what her name was, but the butler appeared nonplussed. “There has been a bit of an accident on the road.”

  “Right away, my lord.” With a curious glance at the willful bundle in Drew’s arms, the older man departed the room.

  “For God’s sake, put me down,” she demanded, as imperious as a queen, her brown eyes snapping with annoyance. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “Best we make certain, so you don’t attempt to trap me or cry foul.” The fact of the matter was, no matter how he felt in her presence, he didn’t trust anyone, especially while he was an eligible, unmarried, and titled peer. The reality of the situation returned and brought renewed anger with it. Was she one of those women who’d angle to get at his title?

  She snorted as he dumped her unceremoniously on a low sofa. “I have more integrity than that.”

  “We shall see.” Drew kneeled on the floor at her feet and made quick work of removing his gloves. Once he’d tossed them in a negligent wad on the sofa beside her, he dared much as he took her left foot into his hands and began the task of unlacing the half-boot. “What is your name?”

  “Miss Copeland.” She clutched the handle of her basket so tight he feared it might snap. What was she afraid he’d do to her?

  Which brought his thoughts back around to her situation. She almost acted like an untried virgin, but she was well past the first and second blooms of youth. “What are you to the baronet?” Once the boot loosened, he slipped it from her foot, where it fell to the Aubusson carpet with a muffled thud. He didn’t much care about her answer, not now when her stocking-clad calf and foot were warm in his hands.