Rules of Surrender (22 page)

Wynter crossed his arms over his chest. ”Much.“

She had not been a governess of immature men for years without gaining some knowledge of the way their minds worked. ”You humiliated him.“

Wynter’s accent deepened and his sarcasm blossomed when he grew agitated. ”What tactful way would Miss Priss have suggested I use to tell him he was an incompetent who almost killed a hundred of my dearest friends?“

”There is no way, my lord. It is a futile endeavor.“

His voice dropped almost to a whisper. ”Are you making fun of me?“

She answered with equal quiet and a great deal of care, for she thought him poised on the edge of savagery. ”No, my lord. A youth given undue power is impossible to train. He speaks with unearned authority and believes himself invincible, and woe to the one who reveals otherwise.“

Wynter watched her warily.

”You led the people to safety. He hated you for it— and he tried to marry Leila?“ She could scarcely speak the words for horror.

”That stinking pile of sheep dung dared to demand that I give her in betrothal as a sign of my good faith, to be wed to him at the onset of her moon cycle.“

Her dismay at his predicament overcame her embarrassment and her ingrained formality, and she breathed, ”Oh, Wynter.“ And immediately hoped he hadn’t noticed her familiarity, and prayed he would never again mention a woman’s menses, for she hadn’t the nerve to chide him about
that.

He seemed not to have heard her use of his first name. ”He already had two wives.“

That confession left her speechless.

”I knew I had to come home. My mother needed me. I should have come to England earlier, but I thought it better that the children live in the fresh air and with an absence of torturous restrictions. Yet Hamal forced me to choose, for Leila’s sake.“ Wynter stared at a place beyond Charlotte’s right shoulder and spoke as if to himself. ”I would never surrender my daughter to such a culture. For me, for Robbie, life in the desert offered unlimited freedom. For Leila, even sidesaddle is better.“

She hadn’t realized the reasons for his return, nor could she have imagined the sacrifice he had made for his daughter. Yet she didn’t wish to dwell on that; she didn’t need to admire this conceited boor. ”I wish you would convince Leila that sidesaddle is better.“

Brought back to the present, Wynter focused his gaze on her, a gaze that sharpened with wicked delight. ”That is not possible. Leila is a sensible child. She quite correctly views the sidesaddle as an inefficient, unbalanced method for riding a horse.“

Arguing that point would be futile. Instead Charlotte directed his attention to the obvious. ”That’s as may be, but it’s the only way a woman is allowed to ride in England.“

She could almost see him lay the kindling of flattery. ”I cannot believe you, a sensible woman, submit to such barbaric torture. Woman must strike a blow for freedom and ride as God meant us all to—with one leg on each side of the horse.“

She refused to allow him to light the match. Not with her. Not ever. ”Perhaps so, my lord, but that someday has not arrived, and that woman is not me. If you will recall our discussion of earlier in the day, I am disgraced and outcast. Likewise your daughter may not be seen riding with her legs astride.“ A dreadful thought occurred to her, and she rapidly added, ”Nor should she be seen standing on the back of her horse! That would be daring to the extreme.“

”Bah!“ Grasping the edges of his shirt, he drew it off and tossed it aside. ”Lady, you have no courage.“

She was alone in a man’s bedchamber, and he was undressing. She would have said she had too much courage, or too little sense. His shoulders undulated with motion, his ribs rippled smoothly down his torso, the golden hairs glided to the waistband of his trousers. Her mouth dried, and the room seemed abruptly smaller. She tucked her feet under her and prepared to rise. ”I will leave you to your ablutions, my lord.“

”Ablutions?“ Grandly unaware of his near-nudity, he glared in irritation. ”Even I, consummate barbarian that you think me, know better than to think it acceptable to ablute with an audience.“ He leaned toward her meaningfully. ”But if I had a wife, I could ablute with her.“

Sinking back, she stared in utter confusion. Then comprehension burst on her in all its jarring glory, and she stammered, ”I believe you misunderstand, my lord. Ablutions are not… that is… ‘to ablute’ is not truly a verb, but ablutions are…“ He watched her with such eager anticipation, confusion touched her. Was he mocking? What did he know? She’d had too difficult a day to deal with such immature teasing! ”Then we are agreed. I’ll start Leila’s riding lessons tomorrow.“

His grimace might have been either disappointment or disagreement. ”I did not say we are agreed. I trust you with my daughter’s education, but not with my daughter’s riding. Tomorrow you will show me your skill on horseback.“

She didn’t want to. Since she had left Porterbridge Manor, she had ridden only intermittently, and she hated to have Wynter see her as anything less than competent. But she admitted he was justified, and more importantly, she had no choice. She rose as gracefully as she could, considering how off balance she felt. ”I will leave you now to your—I will leave you now.“

He stood, too, and his hands went to his trousers.

”No.“ She held out her hands as if to ward him off. ”Not while I’m in the room!“

The way he smiled at her dispelled any notion she might have had of his ingenuousness. Catching one of her wrists, he accused, ”Lady Miss Charlotte, you are shy.“

”I am proper.“ She twisted her wrist.

”Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.“ Bringing her palm to his chest, he laid it over one of his male nipples.

”Why does a man insist on blaming the woman when he is trundling her about and she resists?“

”It is the nature of man.“

His freely given admission surprised her, but it made no difference in his actions. He still clasped her hand to his chest and he moved it slowly in a little circle. She held herself stiffly and glared into his face. He smiled at first, but as the motion continued his smile slipped away, to be replaced by an expression of expectation. His lids half lowered over his eyes, his nostrils flared, his lips parted slightly.

The hair prickled her palm, and the nipple, at first smooth and soft, puckered under the stimulus. She knew that, for as she grew aware of the physical sensations, she found she couldn’t look into his face any longer, and the response beneath her palm was echoed on his other side.

And on her. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t like it. But her nipples tightened, rubbing against her chemise, poking toward him as if demanding attention. He couldn’t see them. She wore all the suitable garments designed to protect her modesty. Yet she had the uncomfortable perception that he knew, and the more uncomfortable perception of pleasure.

The necromancer’s tricks were not so insubstantial, after all.

She could hear his breath, a rasp in the silence.

His free hand rose and hovered an inch above her breast in a cup formed to fit. The warmth of him radiated across the minuscule space. His thumb moved. She inhaled in anticipation. But he didn’t touch her; he only moved his thumb in a little circle, and she knew almost what it would feel like. Almost. And she wanted to know completely.

She had to stop this madness before it went further. ”Lord Ruskin, your behavior is not acceptable.“

”But I don’t mind when you touch me.“

Intense with purpose, she narrowed her eyes at him. ”Perhaps you would if I did as I wished.“

He released her captive hand at once. ”Do as you wish.“

She meant to slap him. He knew she meant to slap him. God knew he deserved it. But even with permission she couldn’t convince herself to do it. She told herself it was a lifetime of ingrained civility which did not allow her such a violent display. She didn’t care to examine any other motivations.

”Charlotte?“ His accent was smooth and seductive as silk, and his hand, the one close to her chest, slipped back to his side. ”You’re still touching me.“

Her hand. Still on his chest. She snatched it back and cradled it against her. She wanted to glare at him, but she couldn’t even look at him. Odious, over-bearing, commanding beast. She’d walked into his bedchamber under her own power and he’d immediately seized his advantage.

He was probably grinning with delight, but he sounded completely respectful and positively indifferent as he asked, ”What time do you wish to ride?“

What time do you wish to ride?
As casually as if this whole incident had never happened. ”I have arranged for a drawing mistress to come in tomorrow“— she had to stop and clear her throat—”so eleven would be a good time for me. If that is agreeable to you?“

”Perfectly agreeable.“

Either this scene, or the one preceding it, must be a delusion. One could not so swiftly slip from incipient passion to indifferent courtesy. Could one?

Perhaps
he
could. Perhaps a vast experience made the return to normal life less jarring. But she still couldn’t bear to look at him, so his mood was impossible to fathom. ”I want you to know I spoke with Lady Ruskin before hiring this young lady,“ she said.

”What young lady?“

”The drawing mistress. Sketching is not my strong suit, so I advised hiring someone with more expertise. Yet I don’t want you to think that because I am not accomplished at drawing and because I’m having difficulty teaching Leila to read that I am incompetent.“

”Of course not.“ Now he sounded entertained.

Which made it easier for her to overcome her inertia and raise her head, and besides, she had something she
had
to say. She began, ”By the by, I wish to reply to that accusation you flung at me from the coach.“ She looked right at him, and he was watching her. Watching her with hungry, blatant intent. She prided herself on her intelligence, and she knew she’d escaped only because he allowed her. If she told him…

But she would not allow him to intimidate her. This was too important.

”Yes?“ he encouraged.

Did he expect some slavish declaration? The man dripped certitude, and that gave her the courage to say, ”It is not you I love, but I very much love your children.“

His eyes widened. Then he gave off fresh waves of absolutely insufferable amusement. ”I’m glad to hear you love my children. That is indeed one of the points I consider essential in my wife.“

How had her knife thrust gone astray? ”I have refused your offer, my lord, if it could be called that.“

”So you have.“ He nodded. ”So you have.“

For the second time that day, she turned to walk out on him.

”Lady Miss Charlotte, I believe I have something you want.“

She turned back in a fury—and saw that he held out her shoes. Snatching them, she marched away, resolved that in the future, she would avoid him when at all possible.

CHAPTER 20

Wynter knew Charlotte would have avoided him if she could, but he made it his mission to keep her close… and aware. At the stables, he insisted on aiding her into the saddle of the gentle gelding, and his hands lingered on her boot as he looked up at the woman who loved his children—and him. ”You have a natural seat,“ he said.

”Aye, that she does.“ Fletcher knocked his pipe against the fence. ”But a little out o‘ practice, I deem.“

Charlotte flushed, and Wynter hid a smile. His Charlotte was a know-it-all who hated to admit she had not mastered every situation. The idiosyncrasy charmed him, as so many of her idiosyncrasies did. She was well on her way to charming herself into a wedding ring, although she said she didn’t want one. She needed to trust him; he knew what was best for her.

Fletcher looked up at the sky. ”Good day fer a ride, m’lord. The sun’s come out wi’ a vengeance an‘ she’s dried up th’ puddles.“

Wynter, too, examined the sky. ”A good day,“ he agreed. Charlotte hadn’t removed her vigilant gaze from him, watching him so warily he knew she must be worried that his hand would rise up the length of her boot and under her skirt. So he asked, ”Don’t you think it’s a good day, Lady Miss Charlotte?“

”I think we had better hurry, Lord Ruskin, or the drawing lesson will be done before we return.“

”This is of great importance,“ Wynter agreed.

She couldn’t have sounded more austere when she said, ”Children thrive on a regular schedule, my lord.“

”I agreed with you,“ he pointed out.

Her gaze flicked again to the hand on her boot, and she urged her horse forward.

Grinning, he stepped back. ”We’ll travel the main road, then cut through the hedgerow to the meadows,“ he called.

She lifted her hand to indicate she’d heard him, and rode down the drive.

”What do you think, Fletcher?“ Wynter asked.

”I think if ye’re no‘ careful, m’lord, ye’ll be ridin’ that filly full time,“ Fletcher answered.

Wynter slapped the hostler on the shoulder. ”That’s the plan.“ Hurriedly, he mounted Mead and galloped after Charlotte.

Fletcher watched Wynter ride away, and said to the open air, ”Ye’ve a way wi‘ horses, m’lord, but ye don’t know a damned thing about women. After that one’s kicked ye in th’ head a few times, I’ll wager ye’ll be a little more humble.“

Wynter would have laughed at Fletcher’s prediction, for on this morning he felt invincible. The sun was shining, the air was fresh and washed clean and he commanded a high-spirited animal with saddle and bridle. It was a perfect day for hunting the wariest of prey.

He could have caught up with Charlotte easily, but he hung back to watch her with the horse. Her lack of practice showed, but she fell into the rhythm of the canter and gained in confidence as she rode. She sat straight in the saddle and held the reins properly, controlling her gelding without use of a whip. She was strong, for all her delicate appearance, and the old-fashioned smoke-gray riding habit hugged her figure much as he wished to.

At the end of the drive, she halted to wait for him. Without looking directly at him, she asked coolly, ”Will I do?“

”Very well,“ he answered.

He wasn’t talking about her riding skill, and from her dour expression, she knew it.