“I appreciate your offer to help. I can oversee the financial aspects of the farm.”
“Yes, but the practical things, the day to day care of so many animals. I doubt your father bothered himself over such matters or taught them to you.”
She looked down at her hands. He had her there. She’d have to accept his help.
Then she looked up, her face full of ducal arrogance. “My father’s head groomsman is very capable and his son as well.”
“You need someone of your own class to assess things. To hold your best interests first.”
“What about your own estate? Are you ever in residence? How do your people fare with an absentee earl?”
“My cousin is a very good bailiff. It has always been that way, even when my grandfather was earl. I am not needed there.”
“More likely your bailiff is cheating you and withholding aid to your tenants.”
He fixed her with a stern look. “Anne, I am not Cranfield. I would never allow anyone to steal from me—or to mistreat those under my care. But you are being needlessly stubborn.”
Her face closed over. “I don’t—I mean I
won’t
justify myself to you.”
She was here, alive and vital in his arms
,
yet the days were already taking her away from him. How ironic. Fate’s damned jest on him. Back at Whitecross Hall, not so long ago, he’d had thought to have her once in Richard Bourchier’s study, on that crimson divan. Maybe if she had pleased him, he’d have taken her once more, in the dead of night in her bedchamber. Then he would have returned to London and thought no more of her.
What nonsense had ever led him to believe he could ever get her out of his mind.
Now here he was, as helpless to prevent her from leaving as he had been powerless to convince the military leadership’s decisions in New Orleans.
Suddenly, all he could think about was breaking through the self-protection that kept her from him. He fixed her with a steady look. “Nan, earlier you spoke to me several times rather sharply. I overlooked it because you lack experience and this is new to you but I shan’t the next time.”
* * * *
“Well, come here.” Jon’s tone was deep, commanding and sent her heart pounding and her palms slicking. On feet that seemed to be pinned to the floor, Anne attempted to walk towards him. Towards the last two stable stalls where the horse waited. For the past four days, she’d been helping him to feed and water the horses. In addition, at his pleasure, she’d spent considerable time blindfolded and handcuffed in the empty stable next to Sally’s. Nevertheless, today, her feet froze. She laughed uneasily. “I can’t seem to move.”
His expression softened and he came to stand behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle push. “You can do this. I’ll be right here, the whole time. Nothing can hurt you here—I won’t allow it.”
Cradled by his strength, her muscles relaxed and she let him lead her to the mare. As they approached, the horse whinnied loudly and Anne startled.
“It’s all right, I’ve got you,” he said, caressing her upper arms as he held her. “She’s just greeting you.”
The urge to back away from the animal threatened to overwhelm her and she resisted only by summoning every ounce of will she possessed. “I don’t know about this.”
He wrapped her hand about the brush. “Try it.”
She couldn’t bear it if he lost respect for her and that alone kept her from pulling free and running back to the cottage. The mare regarded her with a mild
,
dark
,
liquid eye.
She gripped the brush in a hand slick with sweat, unable to picture herself actually reaching out and touching that large beast. He closed his hand over hers, lifted it and together they moved the brush over the silken hair. The mare nickered, a sound that rumbled directly in Anne’s stomach.
“See, she likes it.” He released her hand.
Her hand shook but she managed to take several lone strokes.
“Can you believe you are grooming a horse?” he asked, grinning down at her, his azure eyes glowing with pride.
Pride for her.
And no, she couldn’t believe it. However, it was happening. Suddenly, after a year of darkness, life filled with hope again.
Chapter Fourteen
Hours later, Anne’s heart still thrummed with joy. She lifted her face and let the mellow September sun warm her while she inhaled deeply of the rich green smells. They were walking along the bank of the stream that wended through the woods behind the cottage.
“Midday feeding, a good time to catch fish,” Jon said, stopping and pointing to the stream.
Anne shielded her eyes and followed his gaze. The current flowed between the rocks and made clear pools. Many large, silvery-white fish swirled in the dark blue depths. Alongside the pools, riffles rushed, frothy white over pebbles that gleamed in the warm sunlight.
“But we didn’t bring a pole,” she said.
“We don’t need a pole or fishing line.” He grinned at her while pulling off his leather glove. “I think you ought to have the pleasure of getting your fair hands dirty for once.” He stripped down to his shirtsleeves, knelt down and crawled out flat on the mossy bank. “Now watch me.”
He reached into the placid dark pool and tickled and coaxed a fish. Then he grasped the fish in both hands, leapt to his feet and rushed over to her. A wicked light entered his eyes.
Oh, she was coming to know that look too well. She squealed and backed away.
He followed her and thrust the flopping fish at her face.
She screamed again and ran. Stopping a safe distance away, she turned back to him. “Oh, you’re too cruel! You’re like an overgrown schoolboy.”
He laughed at her. “I have my dinner, now you must catch your own.”
“I can’t lie on that bank, I’ll soil my dress.”
“Then take it off and lie in your chemise.”
“But—”
He came to her and touched the buttons of her dress. “Nan, there’s not a soul around.”
With her dress removed, they lay together flat on the bank
,
she on the bottom and him on top.
“Now
,
don’t squeal or scream,” he whispered directly into her ear. He took her hand and led it to the water. She touched the white-silvery underside and the scaly, slick skin and she bit her lip
,
holding in her exclamation as a shudder went up and down her spine. Imitating his actions, she tickled and coaxed the fish.
“Yes, just like that,” he said. “Now grasp it and stand up. Quick but careful.”
She placed both hands about the fish, staring at it, transfixed to have such a thing in her hands.
“Hurry, toss it,” he said, rolling out of her way.
The fish squirmed and she squealed, struggling to maintain hold of her prize.
“Toss it!” he ordered.
She lost her balance, teetering on one foot.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she cried and fell sideways into the stream. Cool water soaked her clothes and she bent her chin to see the fish writhing on her chest. She screamed. Floppy wetness skimmed her face. She shook her head wildly, sitting up in the shallow pool. That fish had touched her. In the mouth.
She scooped quantities of water over her mouth again and again, shuddering at the memory of the fish against her lips.
At his laughter, she looked up.
He stood there, hands on his hips. “Ah, you let it go. I warned you not to let it go.”
His cocky stance enraged her. She was tired of his never-ending arrogance. She gave a cry and lunged for his lower leg and tugged on it, biting on her lip with the effort. He came toppling into the pool with a crash. Water sprayed her face. She wiped it away and chortled in victory. But when he emerged from the water, the playful light in his eyes made her suspect he’d let himself fall
.
He pulled the wet bonnet off her head and plunged one hand into her loose curls, tilting her head up to put his mouth over hers.
* * * *
Later, Anne lay in bed, listening to Ruel’s even breathing as he slept. The events of the afternoon kept running through her mind. How he had showed her how to gut a fish and how he had laughed at her revulsion and kissed her on the tip of her nose and called her his spoilt sweetheart.
Then he’d made a fire and they’d roasted their catch
,
there by the stream. They had napped on the blanket he’d brought along. The rest of the afternoon had passed in sparkling sunshine and happiness.
They’d spent an afternoon without sex and been as innocently happy as two children who had run away from their nanny. And she had felt so close and connected to him. Now the knots twisting in her stomach wouldn’t let her sleep.
Yet today had been perfect.
Too perfect.
She laid her hand over her stomach and willed herself to relax. Yet she lay wakeful as the hours till dawn passed slowly.
* * * *
In the little courtyard of the cottage, Anne stood as calmly as she could manage whilst watching Ruel walk Sally towards her. Sunlight gleamed on the mare’s sleek, muscular lines, accentuating the power of the animal. It was their third Saturday here. The sight did not frighten the wits out of her as it would have done not so long ago. However, she’d be lying if she said she was completely comfortable either. Her palms were already damp and her stomach churned uneasily. Several times they had taken short rides in the carriage that had come from Eastwood. But she couldn’t cope with such rides for very long at all. She knew he was worried about her progress. He kept talking about extending their time together over the winter at his hunting lodge in Scotland.
He thought to use her lack of progress to gain his way.
However, she was far more worried about her lack of progress. She knew her trip to meet her sister would come soon. She’d have to bear far more than a short ride in a carriage.
He said the root cause of her fear was likely the horse itself. She must become used to being around the powerful animals once more. His logic made sense. She trusted him in this.
But she still couldn’t overcome her terror.
“We shall ride once about the yard,” he said.
She bit her lip, her stomach sinking to the ground as he swung into the saddle.
He patted the space before him. “You will sit right here and I’ll hold you steady. It will be over before you know it.” He reached a hand down to her. She opened her mouth to tell him she’d changed her mind
,
but she found herself swept off her feet and hoisted onto the horse. “You are lighter than air,” he said, helping her to settle then pulling her close to his strong, hard body.
After all these months, she was sitting on a horse.
On a horse!
“Oh
,
God,” she said. Shaking queasiness assailed her with a vengeance.
He tightened his arm on her waist. “I’ve got you. You are perfectly safe.”
She glanced over the side. Heavens. So far down. She had forgotten that. Fear sprang from the pit of her stomach and a thousand imaginary spiders went crawling over her scalp. “But what if she decides to gallop off all of a sudden?”
What if Ruel dropped her? And what if the horse trampled her before she could move to safety? And what if—
He gave her a quick squeeze. “Stop worrying. I’ve got you and the situation is completely under my control.”
He made a soft clicking noise and the horse moved. Everything became all bouncy. Her heart beat sickeningly up into her throat.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Cold sweat had broken over her brow. She had to get off. Now.
“Sapphire,” she said.
Without a word, he stopped the horse and slipped from the saddle. He lifted her down. Nothing had ever been sweeter than the ground under her feet. She held her hand to her throat.
“All right?” he asked.