High Stakes Chattel (7 page)

She blushed furiously, humiliated beyond measure as Joseph worked to release the bonds that had held her. Yes,
she had gotten herself in a bind. Now she needed to figure out how she was going to put him in one.

After a sleepless night
, Nico was feeling quite a bit worse for wear when he joined Samantha at the breakfast table the next morning. She glared at him and then ignored him, speaking only to the servants. He gave her an amused grin and read the paper, pretending not to notice her either, when in truth all he could think about was the way she’d felt in his arms last night.

He certainly hadn’t intended to let things go as far as they had,
perhaps the brandy had played a part. Having her tied up that way, completely at his mercy, had been one of the most arousing things he’d ever experienced. She brought out something in him he couldn’t quite explain.

How he’d found the strength to walk away, he still wasn’t certain. She’d looked like an angry cat when he’d left her there, and his desire had only been tempered by his amusement.

He felt oddly guilty that he’d never mentioned his courtship with another woman to her. Now, it would seem like a strange thing to blurt out after kissing her. Lady Morgan was the complete opposite of Samantha. She was a widow, important in society, who was pleasant to be with, but never aroused the kind of feelings he already felt for Samantha. To be honest, he’d never had this much curiosity in any woman before. He didn’t like it. His plan was to marry a woman who could support his work, perhaps even help it, with her political connections. Certainly, he didn’t want “love”. 

What was he going to do with
Samantha? He had to somehow fulfill his promise to help her without acting inappropriately again. Perhaps the best thing would be to tell her about Lady Morgan. She would either leave his estate or give him the cold treatment. Either of which would be better in the long run than continuing down this dangerous path.

Eventually he put down his paper. “How are you feeling this morning, Mrs. Blake?” he asked neutrally. “Have you recovered from your mishap with the windowsill?”

She looked up at him, obviously expecting him to be smirking, but instead he looked at her pleasantly as if nothing scandalous had occurred between them.

“I am feeling fabulous this morning. Never better. Thank you for asking, Lord Chattel. In fact, I do believe I will go for a ride on Midnight.”

Nico arched a brow as he put down his paper. “The stallion that killed your husband?” He frowned, feeling strangely responsible for her. “Do you think that is the wisest choice? We have a very responsive mare in the stable. Did you see the chestnut? I can have John put a sidesaddle on her.”

“No, thank you,” she said sharply, obviously insulted at the very thought. “I’m a better rider than Henry was, and it certainly wasn’t Midnight’s fault Henry got thrown. He never should have tried to take the fence in his condition.
I don’t need a
responsive mare
or a sidesaddle. I prefer to ride the stallion astride.”

A fresh burst of arousal streak
ed through Nico as he thought of her riding the stallion. He should be shocked by her unladylike behavior, but instead he just found himself more intrigued and amused by her. He’d never seen a woman ride astride before.

“Well, just be careful,” he murmured, returning to his paper and trying once again to ignore her. He’d never get anything done if had that image in his head all day.

She excused herself moments later, and Nico took his coffee up to his lab. He stared down into the microscope and began to make notes. Before long, instead of working, he found himself standing at the window, staring down at the stables, waiting for her to come into view.

At last she did, her brilliant auburn hair already out of its pins and streaming behind her like a flag. She probably thought her curly auburn mane the bane of her existence, but he loved it. Her hair was as wild and free as she was. She sat the stallion beautifully, a born horsewoman, dressed once again in those boy’s trousers he so loved. 

“Uggh,” he grunted to himself and started to pace in front of the windowsill. After watching her a few more minutes, he suddenly had no desire to spend the day cooped up inside, bent over his microscopes. He wanted to go out into the park, breathe in the fresh air, and enjoy the company of his captivating houseguest. Perhaps it would be a good opportunity to set things right between them.

Decision made, he briskly walked down to his room to change into riding clothes
and stopped in the kitchen to have Mrs. Lotte pack a picnic lunch.

She’d had such a head start on him
by the time he got on his horse that it took him a while to find her. At last he caught sight of her standing beside the small lake on the far edge of his property, letting her stallion graze quietly in the long grass beside her. He’d never seen that view look so beautiful.

“Here you are,” he said as he dismounted. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked, turning to look at him, her look concerned.

“No,” he replied, coming to stand beside her. “After you left this morning, I just started thinking that a ride sounded like a good idea and I wanted to join you.”

She gave him a shy smile, obviously happy. “Your property is beautiful,” she told him. “I’ve been enjoying myself very much.”

“Thank you,” he told her, pleased. “I like it too.
Beyond the park there are crop fields. We grow wheat, potatoes and sugar beets and have quite a herd of sheep.”

“So you are a farmer like me
?”

“No, I have help. But I do enjoy the challenge of managing the estate and working with my
steward to make improvements in the land and crops. It is similar to science in experimentation.”

“Yes. Little things make a big difference in the success or failure of the land.” It was strange that they were speaking so politely to each other when
twelve hours earlier he had been kissing her against the window. He tried to put the memory out of his head.

“You are a good rider.”
Nico gazed over at her horse. The stallion was a very fine animal. She smiled, obviously pleased with his praise.

“
How do you feel about a race to the tree line?” he asked, pointing across the lake. “If you win, you can have your pick of the cherry tarts. I had Mrs. Lotte pack us a lunch.”

She raised a challenging brow. “Well, I hardly think it’s a fair match up, but I’ll take you up on it.”

“I’ll give you a head start,” he told her with a grin.

“I meant for you!” Laughing, she strode over to her horse and leapt on, and he groaned inwardly at the sight of her in those trousers. He absolutely loved the way the fabric molded her lovely curves and long, slender legs.
How was he expected to remain platonic while she sported those pants? He was so busy gawking that he hadn’t even mounted his chestnut yet before she spurred her stallion off at breakneck speed.

Shaking his head at himself, he quickly jumped on the ch
estnut and took off after her. How long had it been since he’d done anything so pointless, just for enjoyment? She made him feel like he was twenty, and in love for the very first time.

Love? The thought gave him a pause, but he quickly shook the thought away. He was not in love with the lovely young Mrs. Blake. She intrigued him, yes. And he wished he could sleep with her. But he didn’t think this
small obsession he had with her was love.

As they rounded the lake and entered the clearing, he gained on her, riding dangerously fast in an insane need to beat her. Perhaps, if he did, he could capture her and …

Unfortunately, she reached the trees first, jumping off her horse and beaming up at him with sheer victory in her eyes. “I won,” she cried. “I told you I would.”

“You played on my weakness,” he murmured, sliding down off the chestnut and peering down at her with mock indignation. “You seduced me with those indecent trousers and then took off while I was distracted by thoughts of peeling them off you.”

She laughed breathlessly, that beautiful blush staining her cheeks. “I did no such thing. It’s not my fault if you let yourself be…distracted.”

He loved that she had not been offended or embarrassed by his daring words. Instead that challenge remained in her sparkling eyes, and he knew she felt the attraction between them as deeply as he did.

Wondering again how he should bring up the subject of Lady Morgan, he cleared his throat and turned to grab the picnic basket he’d secured to his saddle.

“
Would you like to see your winnings?” he asked, spreading out a heavy wool blanket on the ground, and then laying out the hearty lunch Mrs. Lotte had prepared. She’d sent along some cold herbed chicken, a fresh loaf of rye bread, a various assortment of cheese and crackers, plus the famed cherry tarts. 

“This looks delicious.”
Samantha sat on the blanket and began loading up her plate with very unladylike portions. He loved that. She did everything with such enthusiasm, without any false modesty or worry about impropriety. And she didn’t hesitate to show her enjoyment. The soft sound of pleasure she made when she bit into the tart sent a bolt of energy through him. God, how he wanted to lick the cherry off her lips.

To distract himself, he gave into his curiosity. “Do you miss your husband very much? It’s only been, what, a year since he died?”

She gave him a hurt look and put down the tart. “I know my behavior must seem awfully cold, but I didn’t know him that well. We were only wed a few months, and during that time he was gone more often than not. To be truthful, I think he only wed me to anger his mother.”

“Why would you think that?” Nico looked at her with curiosity.

“His mother was very controlling and had paraded him in front of the ladies of the ton, searching for the perfect bride to fit a future Earl.” She looked down, obviously feeling self-conscious about being used like a pawn in a game, but continued her story. “A farmer’s daughter who didn’t know how to hold her tea correctly and had dirt under her nails was not his mother’s idea of a good match but it stopped her matchmaking.”

Samantha fiddled with her napkin as she remembered Henry.
“I tried to be a good wife to him, I truly did want to get to know him, but he had no interest in that, no interest in me, beyond the physical.”

Ah. That was what he’d
been curious about, whether or not the marriage had been consummated. “Did you enjoy the physical part of your marriage?” he asked her, knowing it was none of his business, but wanting to know.

She gave him a chiding glance.
“That is none of your business, Lord Chattel.”

He felt bad for making her uncomfortable
. He wasn’t always the smoothest with his choice of words, preferring to be direct.

He noticed her shivering slightly. “Would you like another blanket?”

“Yes, please,” she replied.

He
finished eating, wiped his mouth with the napkin and produced another blanket from the basket. “I haven’t told you that I am courting someone,” he said, anxious to get the words out and looking to see her reaction.

“Oh,
” she stammered, “why would you?” She attempted to look as though he had mentioned the weather rather than something upsetting. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Lady Morgan. She is the widow of a prominent figure in the House of Lords and someone I’ve known for a long time. She is in Italy at the moment, enjoying some warmer weather.”

“Are you in love with her?” she asked quietly, refusing to meet his gaze.

“No, nor will I ever be. I’m not looking for that sort of thing.”

She looked surprised by that. “Then, what are you looking for?’

“To make a difference in society, to save lives, to be more than an aristocrat
who goes to parties. I will need to marry eventually to pass on my father’s legacy, and that is why I’ve been courting Lady Morgan, to see if she is a good choice. I don’t want a wife who will make me feel guilty for being obsessive about my work.”

“Like your mother did to your father?”

“Yes, in a way, only my father worked for power and prestige, which isn’t something I care about.” His voice hardened. “I’m not like other men. I have a few friends, but mostly I like being alone. Perhaps that is how I received the reputation for eccentricity.”