Destitute On His Doorstep (15 page)

 

Jane was about to dismount when a shrill whistle pierced the air. Arthur's head came up and he whickered low in his throat. The whistle came again, and without a bridle to enforce her commands on the horse, she found herself being carried towards the edge of the paddock where the new master of Bilborough stood watching her. With his hands resting casually on his hips, he wore an expression she did not recognise.

All her grievances where he was concerned were
never far from the surface. She looked at his too-hand-some face and knew that she should hate him as her enemy, but Francis Russell had charm as potent as any strong wine. She looked at him and knew that her own face was alight with pleasure at seeing him. He walked towards her, offering his hand to Arthur. The horse snorted and came willingly.

‘It is plain to see who is his master,' Jane remarked, still clutching Arthur's mane and making no move to dismount. ‘Does he always come to your whistle?'

‘Arthur is a smart stallion—none smarter,' he replied, his eyes averted as he rubbed Arthur's nose. ‘Whoever he belonged to before me taught him well. I taught him to come to the whistle—which was useful when we became separated during battle.' He grinned, looking up at her with hooded eyes, and when he spoke his voice was soft and provocative. ‘I have often thought of trying it out on the female sex, but I doubt they would appreciate it. What do you think, Jane? Would you come when I whistle?'

‘Certainly not,' she snapped, most affronted by his bold and inappropriate question. ‘And if you think I would, then you are more half-witted than I thought.'

He laughed out loud at her outrage. ‘I thought not, but Arthur does not often trust a person as readily as he so obviously trusts you, Jane. And I know of no other who has managed to climb on to his back without a saddle and ride him as you have just done.'

Jane shrugged, having no intention of telling him that Arthur had been her father's horse, and that she had ridden him when he'd been hardly more than a foal. ‘I like to ride, and I've always been good with horses,'
she said by way of an explanation. ‘They do seem to trust me.'

‘Clearly.' He smiled slowly. ‘But I hope you haven't ruined a good mount with all your petting and patting.'

Jane's glare bored into his amused and mocking stare as he continued to caress Arthur's nose while his smouldering eyes boldly roamed her bare legs. ‘I most certainly have not,' she retorted, pulling down her skirts. ‘And will you please stop staring at me like that. It's indecent,' she reproached angrily, feeling devoured by those burning eyes. ‘Being an early riser, I was out taking a walk when I came upon your horse in the paddock. We quickly became friends and he did not resist when I climbed on to his back. I will get down now.'

Without a word Francis moved to stand beside the horse and before Jane knew it, with one quick athletic movement he was up behind her. She gasped in outrage, but before she could struggle his arms were round her, his hands grasping hold of the mane.

‘Will you please get down?' she protested crossly, trying to twist away from him, but to no avail. ‘This is outrageous. Dismount at once.'

His breath was warm on her cheek and his voice sounded soft in her ear. ‘Not a chance. Now be still and enjoy the ride. I will escort you to the cottage.'

‘I would rather walk than ride with you in such a manner,' she cried, her mind invaded with the feel of his stalwart chest pressed so close to her back, and his thighs resting lean and muscular alongside her own, and his loins pressed intimately against her buttocks. ‘What if we are seen? What then?'

He chuckled lightly. ‘I doubt there's anyone about at this hour. And if it is your reputation that worries you, fear not. Your virtue is quite safe with me.'

‘I don't think so,' she derided. ‘Whenever you are near me you can't resist pawing me. You are a rogue, Francis Russell. I think there is but one thought on your mind.'

‘And so there is, Jane.' The words came close to her ear as he smoothed the tumbled, sweet-smelling hair out of her neck. ‘When I am with you I can think of nothing else. But enough. Today I promise that you are quite safe. I merely wish to escort you to your home.'

Touching Arthur's flanks with his heels, the horse moved on. Francis leaned forwards, and Arthur quickened his pace, responding to his master's commands as if they were one. Jane was amazed as she felt the movements of man and horse, and as Francis's knees tightened, Arthur stretched out along the path in the opposite direction to the cottage, as if they rode with the wind.

She turned slightly and looked into his face. ‘Where are we going? This is not the way to the cottage.'

He shifted her closer to him. ‘We're taking a slight detour. You're not afraid, are you, Jane?'

Glancing into the brightness of his eyes, Jane saw a soft, smiling warmth there and felt no fear. Her pique was softened by her curiosity, for this man seemed to have an ability to turn every circumstance to his advantage.

‘I am at your mercy, sir.' For safety's sake, she had to submit to the arms laid about her and she resigned herself a bit more happily than she had intended. Pressed
against him, she felt the heat of his body through her clothes, smelled the clean fresh smell of his linen, his sweat, and his knee pressing against her thighs was as intimate as if they were naked. ‘I can only hope that the poor horse doesn't collapse beneath so much weight.'

Behind her, Francis gave a lopsided smile. ‘Fear not, Jane. Arthur has carried heavier burdens than this. He has weathered many storms and come through no worse for wear.'

‘Does he get much exercise?'

‘As much as he wants, galloping around the paddock. Why do you ask?'

‘No reason. I—was wondering if I might ride him sometimes—while I am still here.'

‘Why, are you thinking of going somewhere?'

‘I don't intend living in the cottage for ever. I shall have to decide what I am to do some time. So what do you say? Will you permit me to ride Arthur?'

‘If you wish.' He drew her closer still, her round derrière tucked snugly into his loins. ‘He seems to like you, which is strange since he doesn't usually take to strangers. Perhaps I could ride with you—unless you have an aversion to my company.'

Hearing the gentleness in his voice, Jane turned her head and stared at him. Uneasiness coursed through her, inexplicable but tangible as she gazed at his proud, handsome face. It was as if he was trying to persuade her to put aside her resentment, and she didn't know how to react. As she gazed into those fathomless blue eyes, some instinct warned her that his offer of a truce—for she thought this was what he was angling for—could make him more dangerous to her than he had been as
her adversary. Was it possible that she could benefit from some kind of surface friendship between them, for, in truth, she did rather enjoy their light-hearted banter?

She opened her mouth to accept his offer, then stopped and looked ahead, for pride and honesty and desperation were waging a war inside her. It seemed a betrayal to become
too
friendly with this Roundhead who now owned everything she held dear. And yet if she wished to retain any hope of retrieving Bilborough by whatever means—if such a thing was possible—it might be prudent to gain his trust and secure his friendship with a degree of sincerity and honesty. However, still confused and unsure of herself and feeling that she would be plunging into uncharted territory, when she next spoke her answer was evasive.

‘What? Like this? I think not.'

‘That wasn't what I meant—although the idea does hold some appeal. To hold you like this occupies my mind so completely I can think of nothing else.'

‘Please,' Jane chided breathlessly. She was becoming too aware of his body, the heat of him, of the nestling seat his thighs provided. She could not miss his insinuations. ‘Behave yourself. Shame on you, Francis!'

He chuckled, his arms tightening, content to ride wherever Arthur might lead to hold her like this. He pressed a cheek against her hair, somewhat awed by her closeness. ‘Why? There is no one to hear us—only Arthur, and he won't tell.'

‘Perhaps not. But it is not appropriate that you should talk to me the way you do.'

‘Humour me a little longer, Jane,' he murmured close to her ear, warming her cheek with his breath, ‘and
allow me to enjoy being close to you a while longer. I sense that you are learning what it's like to give in to your heart's desire. You cannot hide away in your little cottage for ever. I have known many women and I know the signs. You do desire me, though you hardly know it yet. You are like a little fish swimming against the current. You have seen the bait and want it, but you try to resist the temptation. But fear not, Jane. I shall land you eventually and you will come to me and never be free again.'

Held within the circle of his arms and unable to move, Jane felt the heat of him all around her and heard the whisper of temptation in her ear. Closing her eyes, she turned her face up to the sun and knew her desire.

As light as a breath of wind he brushed his lips against her neck, raised his head and looked at her flushed profile with his smiling blue eyes. He smiled at her, his wicked, careless smile. ‘Don't you long for a taste of what I can offer, Jane? Don't you dream what it would be like? All these forbidden things could be yours. I could give you more than you can dream of—more than a taste.'

Jane opened her eyes, hazy with desire, but his words brought her back to reality. ‘I'm sure you could—and more besides. But the shame of bearing a child nine months from now is not for me.'

She wriggled forwards, but Francis clamped his arms more tightly about her and pulled her back, and whispered, ‘Stay where you are, for should we meet anyone, I shall embarrass us both should I have to dismount.'

Gasping and unable to turn her head and look at him, she settled back against him. She was glad he couldn't
see her face, for the heat of it nearly stifled her. Yet she felt a strange, delicious contentment that her nearness could affect him so.

Francis kicked the stallion and he leapt forwards into a gallop. They sat easily atop the powerful horse as he surged beneath them, riding harder, his hooves sending up clods of grass and earth. Jane remembered the times when she had given him his head, and how her father, worried for her safety, had chastised her most severely. With the impetuosity of youth she had laughed, telling him that never had she felt as safe as when she rode on Arthur's back. Yet now, with Francis's strong arms encircling her, never had she felt so secure. On reaching the lane which wound its way to Avery, he slowed Arthur to a gentle trot.

Turning in the direction of the cottage, on reaching the gate, with a click of his tongue and a tightening of his knees, Francis brought Arthur to a halt. Jane remained where she was until Francis jumped down. When he turned to assist her she put both hands on his shoulders. He lifted her down and held her close to him. She shuddered as she slid down every inch of his body, and smelled the open-air smell and the warm maleness of him. As his firm hands gently set her on her feet she lifted her face.

He stood looking down, holding her eyes in a wilful vise of blue. His voice held an undertone of huskiness as he asked, ‘Well? Did you enjoy the ride, my lady?'

Feeling the warmth of his gaze wash over her, she lowered her eyes. ‘You certainly have a way with horses. Arthur clearly knows his master.'

In thoughtful silence Francis watched her open the
gate and walk up the path to the house. He continued to look at the door through which she had disappeared a moment longer, before mounting Arthur and returning him to the paddock.

 

They rode together several times after that, Jane on Arthur and Francis on his big hunter. They rode through fields and woodland, never staying silent for long for lack of things to say. Jane often flared up in anger, for Francis had a knack of igniting her temper, but she never stayed cross for long and Francis would quietly accept her mood, which was one of the things she liked about him—that she could give vent to her temper and in no time at all it was quickly forgotten. When they had both had their say the matter was closed.

It was early afternoon, a quiet time in this peaceful place at the border of the woodland and pasture. On reaching the paddock, strangely it came as no surprise to Jane to find Francis there, his own horse saddled and in the process of saddling Arthur. He paused in his task, distracted by her appearance and by the sunlight glinting on her raven-black hair drawn from her face and secured at her nape by a ribbon, the thick tresses cascading down her slender spine almost to her waist.

‘You were expecting me?' With the sun warm on her face and the usual excitement coursing through her at the prospect of riding Arthur, Jane favoured him with a bewitching smile.

‘I always enjoy our rides. It's a fine afternoon and Arthur would benefit from the exercise.'

‘Then who am I to disappoint him.'

She burst out laughing when Arthur nudged her with his nose, almost toppling her over, and Francis found
himself captivated by the infectious joy, the beauty of it. It glowed in her dark eyes and lit up her face. She was unforgettable. He realised it as clearly as he realised that if he were to take her in his arms and lift her into the saddle there was a chance he was going to find her irresistible as well. He hesitated, watching her as she stroked Arthur, still recounting the reasons he ought to let her mount herself—and then with carefully concealed purpose, he did the opposite.

 

When they had been riding some time, with the rooftops of Avery within their sights, they dismounted. Settling themselves on the grass in a bower of murmuring, shadowy leaves, they were content to sit and breathe in the scents of the undergrowth and to feel the warmth of the sun on their faces.