~ Three ~
IT WAS A BRIGHT early spring morning. The earl had not bothered riding the hour plus to his home last night but had put up at the local inn and was now enjoying the sweet smell of spring—and the vision of Bess as she rode her horse across the open field. His own horse pranced as he held him in check.
Bess was an exquisite and refreshing beauty, with the delicious and enchanting lure of innocence.
She was a rule-breaker, and he liked that.
She rode astride in a tomboy style all her own. Her long black hair was carried by the wind, no hat hindered its silky locks, and she seemed not to have a care in the world.
When had he ever been so carefree? He could not remember.
She was tempting. She wore a weathered black wool riding jacket, and it fit her figure tightly, displaying the fullness of her breasts and the smallness of her waist; his breeches became instantly uncomfortable.
Without concern about the proprieties, she wore a pair of boy’s tight-fitting breeches and dusty riding boots, and he couldn’t help but notice the alluring shape of her derriere as she lifted off her saddle and urged her horse faster.
Heat shot through his blood, and he thought the rise in his breeches would tear through. Damn, but she was a provocative little hoyden, and besides her stunning good looks, he had found that he liked her.
He trotted his horse towards her as she approached the fence line with ease and took it in fine form. She stopped on the other side to pat her horse and saw his approach. She waved with a smile that lit in his mind.
He was mildly taken with her and did not believe any harm could come from a bit of dalliance with her while he was at Searington; in fact, he rather looked forward to a little flirtation. He put up his hand in answer to her welcome and said, “Ho there, lass—what a fine, morning, eh?”
She beamed, but he could see as he got closer that her cheeks were bright red, and he smiled to himself. He knew she was embarrassed that he’d caught her riding like a scamp of a child in boys’ breeches.
“My lord,” she said in greeting, just a bit out of breath from her run.
Giving her no indication that he noticed her style of dress, he touched the tip of his hat and said with amiable grace, “Are ye headed back to yer Grange? I am on m’way there now to meet yer father and yer head groom—Chris Hubbard, is it?”
She looked surprised. “Are you? Whatever for?”
He laughed. “Nosey little miss.” He saw the sinking expression on her face and laughed again as he relented and said, “Did yer father not tell ye then? Good—I like a man who keeps his women where they belong.” He had meant this as a tease and was very amused to witness the indignation that swept over her face.
“And
where,
my lord, do you think women belong?”
“In a
man’s eyes,
in a man’s arms, and
out
of his business.” He was teasing still, as he wanted to enjoy a moment’s banter with her. However, he saw that she was a ‘knowing’ little puss and had seen right through him.
Her green eyes twinkled at him, and she said, “Of course—where else would any woman in her right mind want to be but in a man’s eyes and in a man’s arms and out of his business!”
He roared with amusement. “Saw right through m’bamming, eh?” His horse had fallen in step beside her mare, and he eyed her sideways. “As it happens, I am coming to have a look at that black mare yer father is so proud of. We are thinking of breeding her to m’stallion, Bold Tim.”
“Oh my, is Bold Tim, yours? I never realized … why, I have seen him race. Faith, but he is magnificent.”
“Aye, and to my way of thinking, if yer father is in the right of it, we could get some exceptional foals out of that mare of yers.”
“But where do you keep him?” she asked curiously.
“Och then, doona ye know even that? Most women would have known where
I live,
what I like to eat, the name of m’dog …” He chuckled as he watched her take slight offense and stiffen.
“Of course, you being the catch of the century, I am told,” she returned a bit sharply. “I, however, am not most women.”
She was an interesting little thing, he thought as he said, “Right then, I keep m’stud at Searington. M’mother was English, and I inherited her little estate when I lost her a couple of years ago. I’ve had Bold Tim standing at Searington for a couple of years then, even though I wasn’t here the entire time.”
“Searington? I did not realize Searington was yours.” She seemed astonished. “Everyone has always admired the foals that come out of Searington. I think, in fact, I met your mother when I was much younger.”
“Indeed?” For some unknown reason this pleased him. “She loved having a hand in the picking and choosing of mares to studs, and though Henry Gibbens does an excellent job here as our estate manager, she used to like to keep her ‘hands on’. M’da always brought m’mum to Searington for a month or two at a time.” He thought about his parents, gone now, and sighed.
She touched his arm sympathetically. “I am sorry … I did not mean to …”
“Nonsense, only good memories there—nothing to be sorry about,” he answered.
“But Searington is famous for your mare, Lady Mirabel, amongst others—why the interest in our mare?”
“New blood is always a good thing,” he answered softly.
* * *
His soft, sensual voice slipped inside her, and when he said, ‘new blood’ she wanted to purse her lips and invite him to kiss her. The smile in his blue eyes made her want to press herself against him and feel those arms of his slip around her body.
She wasn’t completely inexperienced, after all. She had a Season and had allowed a few bucks a kiss or two. How else was a girl to know who she wanted, she had told herself while she experimented.
In her early years, away at school with Donna and all their friends, they had met ‘town boys’; all the girls had dared a kiss or two in the dark with them. It had been clandestine, it had been wildly naughty, but it had been a part of growing up. That had been wayward behavior, indeed, but she wasn’t sorry for it. Her philosophy was simple. Men could kiss and move on—why not women? How else would a woman know what it was all about?
She had overheard servants talking about men and how they wanted a lady on their arm and a tart in their bed. Well, she wanted to be both for the man of her choosing. The notion tickled her.
She was now at twenty quite ready for more than stolen kisses. She was at that dangerous ‘yearning for more’ stage.
She was more than curious, and her body demanded what only lovemaking could do for her—make her feel complete, take the girl and turn her into a woman. Here was just the man to take her to that stage, but he didn’t appear to be interested in getting serious, and she needed it all: the flirting, the fun, the love-making, and the marriage! She sighed because she knew she was really out of her league with the Earl of Dunkirk.
What the devil was wrong with her? This man was a rogue, a charming rogue, and she knew, absolutely knew, he was only conducting a mild dalliance. Surely he flirted with her to pass the time and could not be in earnest. She had no doubt that flirting, for him at least, was probably no more than a hobby he had perfected. However, it didn’t matter. She was enjoying it all too much to care what his motives were.
“Our mare is a maiden,” she said and felt the blush fill her cheeks in spite of the fact that she had put quite a bit of effort into sounding casual and sophisticated about it.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Bold Tim is quite the gentleman, skilled, experienced, and he will know just how to approach her, and unlike other stallions, he won’t hurt her when he is done,” he said on a low, seductive note.
His tone, his Scottish burr, lush with something else, something she didn’t want to name, swept her into a dream. Dangerous,
he was so dangerous
to her well being. He talked about Bold Tim as though he were suggesting he was as gentle as his stallion. Was he talking about how he would handle her? And, yes, she wanted him to handle her.
Oh, oh, but she was thinking like a tart—a tart! It was so much more than just being naughty and outrageous. It was delicious fun.
“I am certain Bold Tim …
with all his experience
,” she said in a low voice, “will know just what to do.” Her eyes met his with a look intended to display that she knew just what they were talking about.
She saw the surprise in his blues, and a gurgle of laughter escaped her. She had succeeded in oversetting him. He had not expected she would know how to respond to his outrageous dalliance. She smiled to herself—schoolgirl, indeed!
She meant to have a little fun with him, for she could see he meant only to have a little harmless fun with her and then send her on her way. She wanted at that moment to show him that having a little fun could get him into a great deal of trouble.
“Are ye, like I, certain his experience will be enough?” he murmured, obviously caught up in the moment
. “We shall see … m’dear.”
~ Four ~
LADY BESS LEANED against the railing of the paddock that housed the brood mares and watched them graze lazily in the warmth of the sun’s bright rays.
She was daydreaming.
It had been two days since she had seen the earl and had been engaged in a banter that had set her body on fire. For two days, he had occupied nearly every thought.
She felt restless and dissatisfied with the things that she normally enjoyed doing. She had no appetite, no wish to ride, or walk, or go and meet her friends for tea.
The sound of horse’s hooves clopping along and kicking stones brought her head around, and she saw Donna waving to her. She sighed and waited, for she didn’t really want company. Her interest was caught, however, as Donna was dressed in high fashion, though in an odd shade of purple that did not suit her coloring. She laughed and said, “My, look at you! Dressed to the nines!”
“Yes, I am a diamond, am I not?” Donna laughed as she slid off her horse and took up the reins.
“Indeed, you funny thing, Now tell me why?” Bess asked, intrigued.
“Guess,” said her friend.
“You are a tiresome ninny,” returned Bess on a laugh. “How should I do that when I haven’t the slightest notion what you have been up to?”
“Go on, give it some thought,” Donna teased.
“Odious girl, tell me,” demanded Bess with a wag of the finger.
Donna laughed. “I have been to Searington Grange,” Donna said triumphantly.
“Wretch! Never say so,” returned Bess, not knowing just how she felt about this. Here was Donna, who had warned her off the Earl of Dunkirk, telling her that she had been to Searington?
“Not alone, silly thing. Robby took me along with him to see Dunkirk and get the tour of the place and a look at his horses. Besides his stallion, Bold Tim, he has quite a number of mares, all of them magnificent, though none like your father’s black.” Donna eyed her speculatively. “Dunkirk said something about expecting your father to visit him today as well.”
“Oh,” said Bess, unable to hide her chagrin, for her father had not mentioned a thing, and she had even showed him an interest in Bold Tim. “I see,” she added in a small voice.
Donna burst out laughing and touched her friend’s shoulders. “No, you don’t see. His lordship took our promise to return by late afternoon with
you
and your father for a long visit. I just wanted to stop by and tell you before I go home to pack.”
“I don’t understand—with me and my father? Papa never said a word …” Bess said, puzzled.
“Apparently your father wants to have a look at Dunkirk’s stud before he brings over his mare and made some tentative plans with him to stay on for a bit.”
“Did the earl mention me, or was that some contrivance of yours?” Bess asked suspiciously.
Donna shook her head. “I never brought you up. Why would I?” She snorted. “You know my opinion about your ridiculous infatuation with him, and besides …” She hesitated.
“Besides?” Bess prompted.
Donna pulled a face. “I had the awful opportunity to bump into Sally Sonhurst, who was there with him, and, Bess, it is just as I said. She means to have him, touches him every opportunity she gets, and he doesn’t seem to mind. You would do well to forget all about him.”
“Who says I haven’t already done that?” Bess’s chin was up. She was getting a bit tired of her dearest friend forever dishing out advice just because she was married. After all, she was a year older than Donna.
Donna pulled a face and sighed. “Sorry state of affairs, that. If he offers for the widow she will lead him an awful dance.”
“Oh, why is that?” Bess asked, trying to appear unconcerned even though her heart was racing.
“Because she doesn’t really love him. I saw that almost at once. She likes him well enough, and means to have him, but love?” Donna shook her head.
“What of his feelings? Are they engaged? Does he love Sonhurst?” Bess had to concentrate not to hold her breath as she waited for Donna, who scrunched up her face and thought it over for a minute.
“Well?” Bess demanded.
“It is difficult to say, for he is very attentive and she is very attractive—in a raw sort of way—but is he in love? No, I don’t think so, but I don’t know him well enough, and she was much easier to read than he.” She shook her head. “I really didn’t like her, Bess. She is something of a rattle and never stops talking, especially about her connection to the Prince and his little clique.”
“Oh, well, there is never saying what a man will like …” Bess offered, not meeting Donna’s hazel eyes.
“Hmm, that is true, but in this case, there is something else about her. I can’t put my finger on it. Bess, they don’t suit. They just don’t, and although I don’t wish you to make a push for him for obvious reasons, I did find that I rather like him in spite of his rogue reputation.” She sighed. “It will be too bad if he makes an offer for the widow, and Robby says he thinks he might. Says that the earl isn’t interested in making a love match.”
“Well, that is none of my business, is it?” Bess said, still pretending unconcern. “Now, do you wish me to accompany my father? Or are you warning me off?”
Donna sighed. “Of course I want you with us.” She nudged Bess’s shoulder. “I need a buffer between me and the chattering widow.”
Bess’s face fell. “Oh, no—will she still be there?”
“I dash well hope not, but one never knows,” Donna said and grimaced.
Bess laughed. “Well then, perhaps this will be interesting.”
“The funny thing is the earl specifically requested your father to bring you. No doubt, doing the polite.”
Bess’s spirits, which had risen a bit, suddenly were smashed down. “Oh, he is inviting me for politeness. I see.”
“Why should that matter if you are not interested?” Donna asked suspiciously.
“One never wants to be an ‘afterthought’ on an invitation list.” Bess shook her head. “Perhaps I shan’t join you, after all.”
Donna grabbed her kid-gloved hands. “Oh, Bess, you must … I promised to bring you, and I need help, I told you, with the widow.”
“Has she been staying at Searington alone with him?” Bess asked suddenly.
“No, with nearby friends, but she did visit him, quite unattended.” Donna eyed her meaningfully. “Not at all the thing.”
“Right then. I am curious about two things—Bold Tim and this merry widow.” Bess smiled.
Donna sighed. “He is very adept at flirting, your Dunkirk. I wish Robby would flirt with me.”
“He is not my Dunkirk, and what the deuce does that mean, you wish Robby would flirt with you?”
“Come on—I am starving. Take me in for breakfast before I go home to pack and never mind my silliness,” Donna answered.
Bess fell in step beside her friend but wouldn’t let go. “Donna, why did you say that? Robby adores you.”
“I suppose he does,” Donna replied.
Bess eyed her but said, “After breakfast, let’s take the gig and drive over to the parish. I have some clothing I would like to donate for the fair the new minister is arranging.”
“Oh, splendid,” Donna agreed immediately. “I had a look at the new minister when I was in town the other day—have you seen him?”
“Mr. Wenhurst?” Bess answered absently, “Yes I have.”
“He is quite beautiful, is he not?”
Bess sighed. “He is rather good looking.” She turned wide-open eyes at her friend. “I have never heard you speak like that about any man but Robby!”
“Yes, well, I am married, not blind,” Donna teased and then added. “We should have your cook fix us some tarts to take with us for him.”
“Devil you say.” Bess laughed. “You are a strumpet. A married strumpet. I shall tell Robby!” she teased.
Donna shrugged. “Please, please do. Perhaps he may be roused enough to pay me a little court … like he used to do.”
“Brat,” Bess said, shaking her head, “you have already been courted, engaged, and wed. Do you think he must go on forever courting? He has settled into comfortable.”
“I don’t want him comfortable. I mean, yes, comfortable is nice, but I want him to flirt with me, and I have tried to get him to do so—” She flung her hands in the air. “—but he goes on in his happy, merry way, so there you are, and, yes, I find the minister quite beautiful.”
This worried Bess for a moment, and she said gently, “You know, some men, like your Robby, well, they are more apt to rave about hunting than romance. That is the way of it, but in his heart you are all he thinks of. You both enjoy the same things, so you know that about him.”
“Yes, but I want him to pay me more court, flirt with me … talk about more than sport with me.”
“Then show him what you need.”
“I don’t wish to show him. He should know.”
“What kind of an answer is that? How should he know if you don’t tell him?”
“I have hinted enough,” said Donna impatiently.
“Some men, sporting men, like Robby, need more than a hint. They need to be led by their ear,” Bess said on a laugh.
“Well, I don’t like it. I am too young to be cast aside like an old boot!”
“Donna!” Bess objected. “That isn’t the case at all.” However, she saw from the set of her friend’s mouth that ‘talk’ would not improve this situation. Perhaps Donna was right, and Robby needed to take notice of something more than horses, hunting, and sport. “And what would it hurt to flirt him up and show him how you feel and what you need?”
Donna eyed her and sighed. “I suppose.”
* * *
Searington House was a modest estate that sat on eleven acres of groomed and richly designed parkland. It boasted a stable of twenty stalls, all polished oak and brass. Flanking and behind the immediate house grounds were another one hundred acres of woodlands and green open fields.
A beautiful driveway, with old and regal oaks whose branches met and created a tunnel of green, led to the front courtyard. Exquisite horses in their various fenced paddocks grazed leisurely and presented a picture that was lovely and quite riveting.
Late afternoon brought a graying sky, and the earl glanced up for a moment as he strolled with Lady Sonhurst’s kid-gloved fingers on his arm. She had remained for lunch, and it had been all he could do to keep her from leading him to his bedroom.
He could have spent a pleasant hour with her there and still had enough time before Bess’s party arrived. Yet … he wasn’t moved to do so. Why didn’t matter, so he didn’t ask himself why at that moment.
Finally, he took her outdoors and walked her towards his stables.
She had questioned him about the estate’s history. He would have been happy enough to answer her questions about his heritage, if only she wouldn’t interrupt him every other sentence. “Aye then, m’mother’s family traces their roots here to the twelfth century and are of Saxon origin. It has been modernized and updated many times over the years, but here we are …”
The stables appeared, and he was aware of a huge sense of relief. He had sent a servant to ready her horse a bit earlier, and he realized he was heartily pleased to be able to send her on her way.
She should have left hours ago. She hadn’t been invited, and it was not his custom to welcome his mistresses when they had not been invited. That way led to complications.
He wasn’t going to allow her to put him in a compromising position, either, so he had conducted her visit beneath the eyes of one servant or other, leaving the door open to whatever room they happened to be in.
The fact that she had come to visit him alone was not a good thing for either of them at this stage of their relationship. Besides that, he had an odd compulsion to be rid of her before the viscount arrived with his daughter, Bess. Why that was he didn’t bother to explore. He only knew it was time for Sally to leave.
A groom came out of the large, magnificently built stable and led her bay gelding towards them.
The earl eyed her with an apologetic smile. “You know it does your reputation no good to be here, alone, with
me
.”
“As though I give a rap for my reputation,” she answered with a slight curl of her lip. “Let them say what they want. I am a rich young widow and one of Prinny’s favorites. What can they do but gossip, and they would do that anyway.”
He laughed and said on a low note, “Perhaps
I care
what they say.”
“Do you? I don’t think so. I am not fooled, John. We should be upstairs, alone in your room, doing what we do so well together, but …” She shrugged. “You have a little horsey group of people coming soon, don’t you?” She eyed him. “You don’t want to be caught in a compromising position when they arrive, and so
I
am ushered off.”
His voice was low, and his eyes narrowed. “Sally, you and I are all about having fun. When it ceases to be fun, well then, it ceases. I thought we understood that.”
Her eyebrow went up. “Is that what you think? Ah, my sweet John, I mean to have more of you—
much more
.” Her laughter irritated his nerves as she easily hoisted herself into her saddle.