Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings (17 page)

Allyssa thanked him and started out, noting from his look that he seemed just as curious as Mrs. McKenzie could possibly be, but she liked him anyway: everything about him seemed so open and honest and friendly.

Lady Luck handled like a dream. She was spirited but obedient, and Allyssa soon gave in to the temptation to canter her across one of the beautiful open fields. This morning, the landscape didn't seem so green. Oh, the emerald shades were there, but they were interspersed with glorious lilacs and earth tones, more beautiful than ever.

Running through the field was a wonderful sensation. Lady Luck raced along smoothly, her gait as graceful and easy as Allyssa could have hoped. The air was cool, blowing through her hair, whipping cold and refreshing against her cheeks. She reined the mare in as soon as she saw the forest looming before her. As Liam had told her, she saw an enchanting little trail that led into the green canopy of the trees.

Lady Luck seemed to dance into the trees at first, reluctant to give up her run. But Allyssa loved the scenery she discovered, broad branches that met over her head, parting just enough to allow a dazzle of sunlight on her here and there. The ground seemed to be carpeted in softness, with a layer of moss stretched over it.

She was startled when the trees suddenly broke and she found herself in a huge clearing. A sprawling, thatched-roof house sat in the midst of the clearing, surrounded by rose gardens. Behind the house and to the left were stables nearly as large as the dwelling itself. Smoke puffed cozily from the chimney that stood high atop the golden thatch on the roof of the house. It was so charming that it had a fairy-tale quality about it, almost as if it weren't real. The house resembled many of the smaller, Shakespearean-style dwellings she had seen in the village, but this one was much larger. It was nearly the same size as the castle, yet so secluded here in the forest that it was modest rather than grandiose.

As she sat on Lady Luck, staring at the house, she nearly jumped, startled to hear a voice behind her.

“Ah, what do we have here? Our American cousin. Spying for the Yanks, Miss Evigan?”

She must have nudged Lady Luck in her surprise, because the mare leaped forward. “Whoa!” she cried, reining the mare in. She patted Lady Luck, calming her, then whirled the horse around.

It was Brian Wilde.

He hadn't been riding. He came out of the forest as if he had materialized from it, from the mossy, green magic of the trees and the softly carpeted ground.

But he walked toward her in very modern jeans and a cotton work shirt, his hands on his hips, his eyes, as always, gold and assessing.

He stopped before her horse and grinned at her. “Slumming, Miss Evigan?”

“I don't even know where I am,” she told him curtly. “And if these are English slums, you have it all over us poor Yankees.”

He lowered his lashes briefly, then smiled at her again, patting Lady Luck's neck. “Well, I deserved that one. I'm sorry to say that we have atrocious English slums. I meant, Wilde Cottage must be a letdown after Fairhaven Castle.”

“It's not a letdown at all,” Allyssa said honestly, studying the house again. “It's enchanting.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, watching her. “Well, the history of the place is interesting, at least. It seems that the lord of the castle during Henry the Eighth's day was in love with a nobleman's daughter. For various reasons—such as the fact that they both already had spouses—they were unable to wed. He was a very wealthy man, having helped to get Henry's dear dad, Henry the Seventh, on the throne, so he built this house in the woods for his beloved mistress. It was very convenient, I imagine. He would just tell his wife, ‘Honey, I'm going hunting with the boys,' and ride right through the forest from the manor to his cottage.”

“You're making that up for shock value,” Allyssa said coolly.

He started to laugh. “No, Miss Evigan, I'm not.”

“It doesn't matter. It's beautiful.”

“In a way,” he murmured, “it does matter. And it should be beautiful, more beautiful than the castle. The castle was begun as a defensive stronghold by the Normans—they wanted to protect their rumps from the Saxons. While the house was built with love in mind. Illicit or not, it tends toward greater beauty, don't you think?”

She didn't know what to think; he was never the same from one minute to the next. He was watching her now with that familiar golden glitter in his eyes. Amusement? She could never be sure.

“What were you and Darryl fighting about this morning?” she asked him.

“Why don't you ask Darryl?”

“I did. He won't tell me.”

He reached up suddenly, his hands fastening around her waist, and lifted her to the ground before she could protest. For a moment she was pressed tight to his body again. He felt so hot and tense that she nearly jumped. A fire seemed kindled in her own flesh by the glitter in his eyes.

Then he eased her down until her feet at last touched the ground. “Come in, come in. I'll show you the place, and I'll try to answer your question.”

He caught hold of her elbow and started to lead her toward the house.

“Lady Luck—” she began.

“That mare is very much at home here, don't worry. She'll eat up my lawn and be waiting for you whenever you're ready. Right, Lady?” he called softly to the horse.

The mare seemed to understand him. She lifted her head, throwing back her mane, and whinnied. Allyssa arched a brow to him.

“I've a knack with animals,” he said with a shrug.

“Especially those of the female sex?” she heard herself asking.

His smile deepened slowly. “Maybe. Come on. I'll show you the house.”

She followed him along a beautiful garden path between the rows of roses. “Pete Tomason has been keeping them up as long as I can remember,” he commented as she gently touched a few petals. “Do you remember old Pete?” he asked, studying her eyes again.

She shook her head. “I don't remember anything at all about being here. I was a toddler when I left.”

He shrugged. “Maybe a person doesn't remember things from that age. I couldn't possibly judge, could I? I've been here almost all my life.”

Allyssa stopped short, so angry at his tone that she spun to face him, poking her finger into his chest. “Would you please quit that! It seems as if you're always implying something, and I have simply had it with your rudeness! You have some nerve! Showing up in my room, making snide comments, then trying to pretend you were never even there! How dare you? How dare you—”

The finger she had been thrusting suddenly curled back into her hand, and what she pounded against his chest became first one fist, then both. He quickly caught her wrists, jerking her swiftly against him.

“What is it with you?” he demanded angrily. “I was never,
never,
in your room. Trust me, Miss Evigan, if I had been, we would both remember it—very well!”

His eyes seemed like pure, hot metal. She opened her mouth to protest, to deny everything that he was saying, as she gathered her strength to break away from him.

But before a single word could leave her mouth in her own defense, she saw that his head was suddenly, and fiercely, lowering toward her own. And then his lips were on hers.

She knew she should fight him. She didn't even know him, not really, and what she did know about him should have steered her completely away from him.

But such thoughts meant nothing when the rough feel of his lips against her own was the most exciting thing she had ever known. He kissed her as if it was something he had wanted to do from the first moment he'd seen her, as if it was something he had been fighting, something he had been dying to do.…

Hard. Forceful. His tongue wedged apart her lips and teeth. Hot, liquid, intimate, it seared into her mouth, into her soul, into her being. She should have been pounding her fists against him again, but instead her fingers were curling into the cotton of his shirt as she was assailed by delicious sensations. She was tantalizingly aware of the tremendous heat and energy emanating from him, keenly aware of the rippling muscles of his torso. His scent filled her nostrils, rich, masculine, a mingling of leather and aftershave and the subtle, individual scent of the man himself. But it was a kiss, just a kiss.…

Never just a kiss. Never had a kiss made her feel so explicitly what she wanted to do. Never had she simply molded herself so swiftly and naturally against the body of a man. The force itself was exquisite.…

As his fingers threaded through her hair she pressed closer and closer until she could feel the length of him, flesh and bone and sinew and more.

Then suddenly, as swiftly as his touch had come, it was gone. His fingers were still tangled in her hair, but his face was high above hers, and he seemed angry, incredibly angry. “I told you—neither of us would have the least doubt that I had been there!” he snapped huskily.

She wrenched herself away, spinning and heading almost blindly toward her horse. To upset her further, the mare spooked and ran several feet away from her when she moved to take the reins.

Behind her, Brian whistled. Lady Luck turned as obediently as a lamb and trotted to him. “Miss Evigan?” he said politely.

She walked over to him and snatched the reins from his hands. She would have mounted on her own power, but he was too swift. His hands were on her waist again, lifting her, setting her down. She gathered the reins quickly, staring at him, in a hurry to be gone.

“You didn't see the house,” he told her.

“Get out of my way.”

He arched a brow. “Running? I didn't think you were the type to be easily scared.”

“Move!” she snapped.

“You still don't know what the argument was about between Darryl and me.”

“I don't care—”

“Oh, yes, you do. And I'll tell you. The sheep just can't cut it anymore. We can't hold on to these places without changing our ways. The National Trust wants us to open them both to the public, two afternoons a week. It would give us all kinds of government credits and, quite bluntly, it would save our butts.”

“Well, Mr. Wilde,” she suggested irritably, “why don't you open your own house to the public and let Darryl do whatever he wishes with his?”

He shook his head, still holding the reins so that she could not move, still studying her eyes. “You don't know, do you?”

“Don't know what?”

“They're linked, you see. The way Paddy saw it, there were three heirs to his grandfather's estate, those being Darryl, you and me. I loved the cottage from the time I was a child. You were gone—no one knew if we would ever see you again. The cottage came my way, the castle fell to Darryl. But there are numerous legal ties. Neither of us can sell without the other's permission. Neither of us can make changes—like signing with the National Trust—without the other. That's how it was set up during Paddy's life. But then again, sweet distant cousin, everything could change. After all, the solicitor did find you. And, after all these years, you're back.”

“Gold digging,” Allyssa said sarcastically, trying to jerk the reins from him. “Let me by!”

“Why? Are you in such a hurry to run to the castle and commiserate with Darryl?”

“Despite whatever faults
you
may see in him, Brian Wilde, the man is a hell of a lot nicer than you are!”

He instantly released his hold on the mare, stepping back. “And your names are already the same! How convenient for you!”

Allyssa decided not to reply, now that she was free of him. She set her knees to Lady Luck's ribs and bolted from the clearing.

Despite her anger, she had the good sense to slow the mare's gait as she made her way through the trees. Still, she headed for the castle as fast as she dared, racing once again when she came to the open fields.

Darryl was still out when she arrived. She learned that he would be very late, but that dinner would be served whenever she chose. She thanked Gregory for the information and hurried up to her room.

As she stripped, she kept her gaze nervously on the bedroom, thinking that Brian Wilde might appear again. But he didn't. Still, she stared into every corner of the bedroom, checked under the bed and peered into the armoires, then bolted the door firmly.

Then, as she sank into another deliciously warm bath, she closed her eyes in comfort.…

Suddenly she bolted up in horror. Oh, no! She had been
hoping
that he might appear again in her room.

She gritted her teeth, leaning back once again and lifting a washcloth to drip hot sudsy water slowly over her arm. Why? What was it about him? He was rude, he was insulting, he was …

Exciting. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. He was nothing like Brandon, she assured herself. Brandon had been so soft-spoken, so dedicated to his ideals. He had loved her so gently, so tenderly.

And she had never known anyone like Brian Wilde. She'd never even imagined anyone like him. Just being held the way he had held her … The feel of his lips …

The nerve of him, sweeping her up like that! The nerve of him, period. What was he doing? Trying to tease and torment her into leaving?

Then why had it seemed so …?

Natural, she supplied silently. Wild. Passionate. Unbearably exciting. As if he had hungered for her for so long. As if he had needed her touch and was remembering it now as she remembered his. She brought her trembling fingers to her lips. It was so easy to remember. Too easy …

She thought she heard a noise in the bedroom. She dropped the washcloth and nearly catapulted from the tub, grabbing a towel and quickly wrapping it around herself before hurrying to the bedroom, refusing to confront her own emotions.

The towel fell, but it didn't matter. She was chasing phantoms. The room was empty.

She ate alone in the family dining room. Then she read for a while before returning to her room and crawling into bed, where she lay awake for a long, long time.