Scandalous Love (19 page)

"You were superb,
darling," she crooned, stroking his soft muzzle. "So superb."
The Duke's image filled her mind.

She turned and with a
sigh saw that the riders had all disappeared around a corner on the trail. No
matter, she would walk the black the rest of the way. Taking his reins, she led
him along the path.

The Duke of Clayborough
was steaming with anger. His stallion felt it, skittering about and tossing his
head restlessly. Nicole Shelton might be the finest rider he had ever seen, but
she was a reckless fool. Right now he wanted nothing more than to put his hands
on her and shake her until she admitted how wrong she had been.

No one attempted to talk
to him for they sensed his mood, and Hadrian rode alone, off to the side of the
group. Their laughter and chatter filled the quiet morning, echoing in the
woods. The Duke heard nothing of what they were saying as they excitedly retold
and relived the hunt. He was just too angry.

And the least of it was
that she had defied him, although that was incredible too. He had ordered her
to the back— and she had laughed at him and ridden to the front. In that
moment, he could not think of a single person, male or female, who had ever
disobeyed an express command of his.

She was lucky that she
hadn't had a serious accident the way she had been riding, she was lucky she
hadn't caused a serious accident. He had seen many terrible accidents resulting
from careful riding in this sport, much less reckless riding. People broke
their necks and were killed, and he had seen one young lad paralysed. One day
she would become the sport's hapless victim too, if she continued to hunt like
that. By God, it would have been bad enough if she had been riding astride, but
she had been riding sidesaddle! It was lunacy!

He took a deep breath to
steady his own raging nerves. His pulse was still racing, adrenaline still
coursing through him. He could not shake her image from his mind as she had
been during the past two hours. Nearly six feet of superb woman riding like a
bat out of hell, exhilaration written all over her face.

He could still hear her
laughter, wild and reckless. He could still feel her beside him as they rode
like demons possessed on the straining, racing hunters. A surge of heat swept
his body and he actually trembled.

She rode like a savage.
She had been, he had to admit, magnificent. She would be, he knew without a
doubt, equally magnificent in bed. In his bed. Suddenly, in that instant, he
wanted her so much he was ready to drag her into the woods and do as he would,
right then and there.

He took a few more deep
breaths to ease the most agonizing state he had ever been in. Then, not at all
assuaged, he turned to search for a glimpse of her. To his shock, she was
nowhere in sight.

Abruptly he wheeled his
stallion around and rode up to the ladies riding last in line along the trail.
"Where is Lady Shelton?"

Looking surprised, they
all turned to stare behind them. "I don't know, Your Grace," the
Countess Arondale said. "She was behind us a moment ago."

Hadrian grimaced and
rode off to find her, wondering what could have possibly happened now. Five
minutes later he came upon her a mile down the trail, where it was still wooded
and shady. She was walking her mount, in no hurry at all. He rode directly to
her. She saw him and the air heated up and sizzled between them.

"What
happened?" he said brusquely.

"He picked up a
stone."

The Duke abruptly slid
down from his black, trying to concentrate on the issue at hand. He handed his
reins to Nicole without a word, but their fingers brushed. He cursed silently,
kneeling beside the big black gelding and picking up its hoof. "It's not
too bad, but he should be walked back." Finally, his gaze lifted to meet
hers.

She stood very still.
Her cheeks were flushed from the wind and the sun and her eyes were silver and
bright.

"I will walk back
with you," he said, handing her the reins and taking those of his
stallion.

"You don't have
to," she said, not moving.

He didn't answer. He was
too aware of her. He moved ahead of her with long, purposeful strides, as if to
outwalk her. He heard her following.

They walked in absolute
silence, only the breeze in the trees making any noise. Yet Hadrian knew not
only that she was behind him, but that she was just a few feet away and to his
right. He could feel her presence and something else, something he was too
experienced not to recognize, the heavy sexual tension that was enthralling her
as much as it enthralled him.

Why did he want this
woman so much? Was it because she was forbidden to him? Was it because she was
so different? Was it because she was, on the one hand, so proud and strong, and
on the other, so vulnerable? He wanted an answer, but knew he would not find
one.

He was sweating. He
wanted to rip his coat off but he was suffering from arousal and he did not
want to expose it. To expose himself and his own sad lack of control. He closed
his eyes briefly, telling himself that if he did not have control, he was
nothing more than a beast. No more than Francis. He had managed to fight the
temptation she offered these past weeks, he must not surrender now. While he
fought with himself, he listened acutely to hen to her footsteps, to her soft,
slightly shallow breathing. And finally it was Nicole who broke the silence.

"Why did you come
back here?"

He stopped abruptly, but
did not turn. His hunter pawed the ground restlessly. "It occurred to me
that, after your performance earlier today, you might have done something else
as reckless and as rash."

Nicole had paused too,
abreast of him. "But why did you come back?"

He faced her.
"Foolishly I thought you might be in some distress."

She smiled.

He grimaced.

"You came back to
rescue me."

The Duke did not deny
it. "Apparently it is a new habit of mine."

"I don't
mind."

"You minded the
other day."

She looked him in the
eye. "No, I didn't. That was a sham."

They stared at each other.
The moment was pregnant with too many possibilities. It was too intimate. The
Duke shattered it purposefully. "You rode like a maniac today. Tell me,
are you always so reckless? I begin to fear that you are."

Her chin came up. She
had opened her jacket and her lush bosom heaved. He remembered that she did not
wear corsets. "I did not. I am an excellent rider and I took no real
chances."

"No real chances?
You took every chance! One day you're going to kill yourself!"

Her voice, when it came,
was whisper-soft. "Do you care?"

He was not able to
answer, he refused to answer— refused even to inspect his own feelings.
"There is a stream off of the trail," he said, breaking the silence
that had fallen between them. "You must be thirsty. Let's water the horses
and have a drink."

The stream was just a
few minutes from the trail. Both horses were now cool enough to drink and they
eagerly lowered their heads to the water. The Duke stood apart, unmoving.
Nicole dropped to her knees and unabashedly began cupping water in her palms,
drinking thirstily.

He watched her. Again he
was struck by how she was everything the ladies he knew were not. She drank
with abandon, spilling as much water on her shirtfront as she managed to
imbibe. Then she splashed her face, briefly lifting it to the sunlight seeping
through the trees. He was as unable to take his eyes from her as he was unable
to stop wanting her. Suddenly aware of his regard, she stilled and looked up.

There was awareness in
her gaze. Awareness and anticipation. He knew she would not refuse him, not
today, not now. Hadrian found himself walking toward her. His heart was
hammering, a dull roar in his ears that shut off any protest he might mentally
make to himself. Slowly she rose to her feet.

His hands closed over
her arms. "Tell me no."

She shook her head,
denying his request. "Yes."

He covered her mouth
with his, all of his resistance crumbling in that precise moment. There were no
games, now, no pretenses, not for either of them, and Nicole instantly flung
her arms around his neck, clinging. Hadrian embraced her as if she were
something wild and precious which he had caught and which at any moment he
might lose.

Their tongues mated in
fierce abandon, a prelude to how they, too, would soon mate.

They sank down to their
knees in the wet, loamy bank. He could not claim enough of her. His hands moved
over her jacket, pushing it open. Her soft cries encouraged him. He pushed her
onto her back, delving into her shirt and the chemise she wore below. He
touched her bare breast.

He let her flesh fill
his palm and overflow. He was a quiet, controlled lover, but now he wanted to
groan like an animal, he wanted to express his profound pleasure. He did not,
stroking her ceaselessly instead, aware of the feeling of explosive need—and heady
jubilation—rising up in him.

Nicole gasped in
pleasure as he ran his hands over her flesh, over her hard, tight nipples. When
he pushed her clothes aside and lowered his face to her breasts, another groan
escaped her.

He had to at least call
her name, he had to. "Nicole."

She clutched at his
longish hair, at his head. "Hadrian." It was a sigh.

He did not pause,
teasing her distended, yearning flesh with his mouth and tongue. "Tell me
to stop."

"No. Don't stop,
Hadrian, don't ever stop."

He closed his mouth on
one pink tip and at the same time closed his mind to the knowledge of what he
was doing. Nicole arched off of the ground. He sensed how precipitously she
hovered near her climax and his body went wild in response. Not being the kind
of lover who freely murmured endearments and promises, he made his promises
with his body.

Promises which, in a
saner moment, would be impossible to keep.

Nicole began returning
his caresses aggressively. Her hands were on his skin, beneath his shirt. His
own hands were sliding up under her skirts, along her cotton-clad thighs. She
cried out his name when he touched her. Never had his name sounded so wonderful
before.

Determination to see her
fulfilled in his arms swept him. He would do everything in his power, too, in
order to achieve this. Sweat beaded his brow. "Die for me, Nicole,"
he commanded, touching her, kissing her.

Soon he was rewarded.
She cried out, arching in abandon in his arms. He felt her spasms, strong and
rhythmic and intense against his palm. And when she had stilled he felt an
intense satisfaction which he had never experienced before.

She looped her arms
around his neck. "Oh," was all she said.

That one word conveyed
everything. It had been her first orgasm. She was not experienced. She was
undoubtedly a virgin. She was certainly Lady Shelton. The Duke's gaze swept
her, from her flushed face to her spread thighs, where her skirts were tossed
up high on her waist. He had been about to reach for his trousers, to free
himself, but his hand was frozen. Now was not the time for his conscience to
intrude, reminding himself of who she was—and who he was. But it was too late.
He closed his eyes, fighting himself. Thinking too clearly. He had given her
her first climax, and if this continued, he would be her first lover. It was so
very wrong.

Without a sound he
wrenched himself away from her, flinging himself onto his back in the wet,
muddy grass.

Nicole sat up. She was
shaken to the core of her being. Although she was certainly more knowledgeable
than most young women as far as the topic of sex went, she had never even
considered the possibility that it could be an earth-shattering experience.
Still breathless, she looked at the Duke of Clayborough.

He lay on his back in
the muddy grass, as stiff and unmoving as a board, except for the fact that he
was panting and out of breath. Nicole remembered how abruptly he had moved away
from her and she understood that while she had experienced all that lovemaking
could offer, he had not.

She trembled, her gaze
sweeping over him. He was the most magnificent, virile man she had ever laid
eyes on, and seeing him in such a state of raw desire fed her own hunger, a
hunger she had thought assuaged. Something else swept her too, something sweet
and aching and terribly tender. "Hadrian?" she whispered, love rising
up and flooding over her in one swift, absolute tide. She touched his cheek.

He jerked away from her
and was on his feet in one lithe movement. "Don't touch me!"

She recoiled, shocked by
the anger in his tone, and by his rejection.

"And don't look at
me as if I've just kicked you in the ribs!"

Nicole stiffened.
"I'm sorry."

He ignored her, striding
to the stream. She could not help but notice that he was still aroused. He
waded into the middle of the brook and plunged beneath the water's surface.

Nicole cried out. The
water was frigidly cold. He was mad! "Hadrian," she gasped when he
rose to his full height, shivering. "You will catch your death!"

"You will be my
death."

She regarded him
uncertainly. "Do you mean ... the death you once referred to ... what
happened today?"

"No! That is not
the death I mean!"

"Why are you so
angry? What have I done?"

"Everything,"
he growled, his gaze sweeping over her.

That did not explain
anything to Nicole, and she watched him submerge himself again in the icy
stream. Slowly she got to her feet, terribly afraid that they would not be able
to recover the warmth and intimacy which they had just shared, for a chasm
leagues deep already seemed to be opening between them. She must do something
to defuse his inexplicable anger and she must do it quickly. She picked up his
jacket, and when he stood again, the water cascading down his lean, hard body,
she said, "Come here."

The glance he gave her
was rude, but he waded from the stream, shivering anew. Nicole placed his
jacket on his shoulders, rubbing him as if it were a towel she held. He
snatched the coat from her and removed himself from her touch. "Are you
trying to seduce me?" he snapped.

Was she? "Would
that be so terrible?"

"You are the only
woman I know who would ever admit to such a thing. This is not right!"

"When we're
together," she said, very softly, "nothing is more right."

He stared at her. His
gaze was inscrutable.

Although her manner was
bold, inside she was quaking, because so much was at stake. She approached him,
touching him. This time he did not move away. "Why did you pull away from
me just now? I am not a complete fool. I know that there is more. Don't you
want me?"

For a long moment he did
not speak, and Nicole was afraid of his reply. "I wish I did not want
you," he finally said tightly.

He did not seem happy
about the matter. Apprehension filled her. She touched him again, taking his
hand. "I want you, Hadrian. I still want you."

He did not pull away
from her, standing completely still. "You are merciless. Can you not see I
am trying to be noble?"

"Right now I don't
give a fig about nobility," she murmured, her hand tightening on his.

He pried her palm from
his. "This is intolerable, it cannot continue. I take full blame for what
has passed. Virgins are for marrying, not for this."

She was unable to keep
the hope from leaping in her breast. He knew she was a virgin, was he implying
that he should marry her? His feelings had seemed as intense as hers, surely
there was more involved than just desire. Would he break it off with his
fiancee now that he realized how he felt? Would he offer her marriage? "I
cannot continue this way either. I cannot stand being apart from you."

"If you still think
to seduce me, you are doing an admirable job."

Nicole stepped back. His
words had the effect of a whiplash, physically hurting her. "Is that what
you think? I thought... I had hoped ..." She trailed off, realizing, in a
way, that he was right.

He paced away from her.
She watched him. He paced restlessly in a tight circle, back and forth, back
and forth. Certain he would not agree to what she was suggesting, Nicole said
tentatively, "I can return to Dragmore, and we can never lay eyes upon
each other again. That is one solution."

He turned toward her.
"That is the ideal solution!"

Nicole gasped.

"I had thought,
too, that was what you were planning to do, the last time we spoke."

He wanted her to leave.
He wanted her to leave London so he could not see her. It couldn't be possible,
not after the intimacy they had just shared. Surely she was misunderstanding
his meaning.

"Why didn't you
leave?" he demanded.

Nicole's wits were
scrambled, and he had to repeat the question. "I... I was going to. My
parents asked me to stay." Horrified, she felt the heat of tears rising in
her eyes. "They hope I will re-enter society and be a big success."

His square jaw
tightened. "And is that what you wish? Do you now seek a husband?"

She looked at him, a
golden god except that he was flesh and blood and mortal. She had wanted to
marry him the moment she had first laid eyes upon him. "Yes," she
whispered.

"Then I wish you
all the luck."

He was not going to
propose to her. He wished her luck in finding a husband—someone other than
himself. Nicole reeled as if struck. The Duke moved to catch her, but she
shrugged him off and hurriedly turned away so he would not see how devastated
she was. How could he care so little, when it had seemed that he cared so much?
Did she mean so little to him after all?

"I am nothing to
you, no more than a passing amusement."

"I made it clear
from the first that you could not have any expectations from me."

Nicole whirled.
"Bastard!" she spat. It was the first time she had ever used such a
dirty word, and she was glad to see that she had briefly shocked him. "Is
that why you came looking for me today—to lift my skirts in the woods?"

"You know that is
not true."

"Do I?" Her
voice rose, she knew she sounded hysterical. She
was
hysterical. "I
know only what has happened here today! You tell me I should expect nothing
from you—yet you behave in a manner that leads me to expect everything!"

"I consider myself
a beast." He did not take his eyes from her. "I am, after all, my
father's son."

Nicole turned away,
shaking in hurt and rage. "God, I hate you!"

"Then that makes
two of us," he said, so softly that she was sure she had not heard him
correctly.

"I am getting out
of here," Nicole said, striding toward her mount.

His hand whipped out and
he caught her arm. Angrily Nicole pulled herself free of him, daring him with
her furious regard to ever touch her again.

"You can not return
to the house like that," he said. "You look as if you have been
tumbled in the dirt."

"But I was, wasn't
I?" she said mockingly.

"Not quite,"
he gritted.

"Oh yes, however
could I forget your
nobility!"
She started to mount, too angry and
upset to think about her hunter's sore foot. The Duke caught her again and this
time dragged her away from the horse.

"What are you
doing?" she screamed, all of her emotions exploding.

He lifted her in his
arms. "Not what you are thinking," he said coolly.

With a savage cry,
Nicole writhed and tried to slam her fists into his face. He ducked, but he
needed both hands to carry her so he could not defend himself, and one blow
glanced off of his chin, "That is the third time you have struck my
face," he said darkly.

"But not the
last," Nicole replied furiously.

But just before her
nails could rake his skin, he released her, and she plummeted into the icy
water of the stream. She gasped, sinking like lead below the surface, managing
to close her mouth before she swallowed too much water. Before she could react,
she felt him hauling her up above the surface by her collar. She gasped air,
air, sputtering, while he dragged her to the bank. She sank to her knees, and
he began pounding hard on her back. She spat up the water she had swallowed.

She turned her gaze upon
him. It was murderous. "Now I will kill you."

His arms were crossed
and he regarded her with no emotion at all. "You fell back from the group
and decided to water your horse. I came looking for you. Your mount shied, you
fell in. I came in after you."

Her only answer was an
inarticulate sound of impotent rage.

On their way back they
were met on the trail by two grooms who had been sent to look for them. The
Duke promptly told them what had happened, or rather, the story he had
concocted. Since he and Nicole were wet, they took the boys' fresh mounts and
left one of the grooms behind to walk back Nicole's injured hunter.

When they arrived at the
house, several guests were still in the courtyard, discussing the morning's
adventures. They were greeted with relief and concern. Again the Duke related
the story he had invented and no one doubted a word of it. Not, of course,
until they entered the house.

Isobel was hovering
anxiously in the parlor that adjoined the foyer, and the moment the Duke and
Nicole entered she hurried to them. Her glance went from Nicole to her son.
"What happened?"

"Nicole's mount
shied and she fell into a stream. I had gone back looking for her, and I went
in after her," the Duke said matter-of-factly.

"But I am all
right," Nicole said, managing a bright smile for the Dowager Duchess's
benefit. She received no smile in return. Isobel regarded her speculatively,
and Nicole was certain that she doubted every word her son had said. Shame
flooded her, adding motivation to the compelling urge she had to flee, not just
from the

Dowager Duchess with her
too-knowing eyes, but from her son.

"You had better get
upstairs and out of those wet things," Isobel finally said.

Nicole nodded, only too
glad to leave, when her mother called out from behind her. Her heart sank as
she saw Jane and her father descending the wide, winding staircase.
"Darling, are you all right?" Jane cried, hurrying to her with her
husband on her heels.

"I'm fine,"
she assured them, trying to hide her uneasiness. It was one thing to tell
everyone else that she had fallen off her mount, it was quite another to foist
such a tale off on her parents. Careful not to look at her father, she told
Jane how she had fallen off her mount and how the Duke had rescued her.

"You fell from your
horse?" Jane said disbelievingly. Her father stared at her.

"I thought I was
alone," Nicole lied with aplomb. "And I was in that awful sidesaddle,
which you know I never use. Hadrian startled not just my horse, but me! It was
just one of those things." She darted a glance at her father. She saw from
his stern expression that he knew damn well that she was lying through her
teeth.

"You must get out
of your clothes," Jane said firmly, pausing only to flash the Duke a warm
smile. "Thank you, Your Grace."

The Duke nodded.

It was then that Nicole
realized that she had just referred to him by his given name, and not as the
Duke or "His Grace." Her heart stopped, and she darted a glance at
the Dowager Duchess, who was staring disapprovingly at her. Another peek, this
time at her father, showed that he was wearing almost the identical expression.
Neither one of them had missed her terrible slip of the tongue, and crimson
color flooded her cheeks. She did not dare look at the Duke, but she did not
have to. She could feel his silent fury.