The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (16 page)

CHAPTER 16

Roark scrutinized the bonneted head against his chest. Adaira’s delicate scent teased his nose. The urge to pull off her hat and kiss the crown of her head was overwhelming. Why did he feel compelled to comfort her?

He’d seen her approach the stables, head bent, shoulders slumped, a becoming gown swishing about her ankles. A soft breeze ruffled the pink ribbon of her bonnet, and flirted with the hem of her gown, revealing tan half-boots.

Though she walked swiftly, the spring was gone from her step. She tried to hide beneath the parasol. Yet, he’d seen the despair in her dark eyes and the tension around her full mouth when her gaze roved the paddock.

He’d been standing on the other side of the mare, calming the high-spirited horse. He’d also seen Adaira speaking to a burly Scotsman who’d stopped her halfway across the bailey. That warranted investigating. Roark bent his head a fraction and inhaled. She smelled exquisite. Like spring rain and lilies and sun-drenched meadows.

He resolutely squashed the guilt prodding him.

She might be despondent at present, but in the end, he was convinced she’d realize the benefits of moderation and decorum. Gentle women couldn’t gallivant about unchaperoned wearing breeches, brandishing blades, swearing like fishwives.

And abducting nobility.

It simply wasn’t done. For her own good, for her own safety, she needed to curtail her hoydenish ways and follow society’s rules.

It was a blessed wonder she hadn’t been set upon by some scurrilous cur as yet. A reprobate like his sire, knifed to death by a crazed innkeeper after Father despoiled the man’s daughter. That had taken a tidy sum to hush the gossip and provide for the poor girl’s future.

Roark had spent his life setting to right the consequences of other people’s corrupt choices. Edgar’s arrest was the
coup de gras
. Not that his was the first allusion to treasonous behavior by a Marquardt.

Enough!

Roark deliberately curtailed his reflections and focused on the woman in his arms. It was apparent her parents adored her. In his estimation they’d been lax in their management of her. It didn’t bode well to give an unmarried woman, a young and beautiful unwed woman, too much freedom. Adaira would be in a dither if she knew, but he’d seen the relief on her parents’ and Sethwick’s faces when Roark stated his demands.

He wasn’t altogether sure which pleased them more, however. His not laying charges against their daughter if she complied with his stipulations? Or, was it that she’d be forced to curb her uncouth behavior once and for all?

She’d not noticed him in the paddock with the grooms. He’d been in his shirtsleeves and on the far side of the horse. Exercising horseflesh was one of the very few times he threw propriety aside. That and when he doctored animals. How was one to train horses in an intricately wrapped cravat and snug coat? Both prevented free movement, essential when working with livestock but indispensable when taming unbroken horses.

He’d hurriedly donned his navy hunting jacket and tied a simple knot in his neckcloth before hastening after her.

“Unhand me, my lord.”

Adaira’s tone was carefully modulated. She made no effort to leave his arms, but stood stiff and unyielding against him, her focus riveted on the floor.

When Roark didn’t move and remained silent, she raised her dainty foot to tromp on his boot or kick his shin. He squeezed her to him, preventing the blow. “I think not. It will hurt you far more than me.”

He remembered the last time they’d been here together. Her reaction had been wholly different. Recalling her passionate kisses, blood rushed to his lower regions. God rot him. He’d enjoyed her responses far too much.

Except for the blow to his mouth.

Why did the idea of her locked in ardent embraces with other men make him want to throttle those faceless strangers? To kiss her until she begged him to take her and forget all others?

Ignoring his better judgment, Roark flattened his hands on her back, drawing her closer. Lowering his head he nuzzled her creamy neck beneath her ear. Her breath left her in long unsteady sigh. Pressing his nose to her skin, Roark inhaled deeply, trying to draw her essence into his being.

Her body was unbending. Tension radiated through her. Anger or arousal? He flicked the tip of his tongue over her velvety skin, tasting her. She inhaled sharply.

“So sweet—” Oh, God to be able to taste all of her.

Raising her palms to his chest, she stuttered, “Y-you, you shouldn’t,” even as she angled her neck to give him better access to the silky flesh.

He disregarded her protest. Her sultry voice beckoned him, belying her huskily whispered words. Covering her neck and jaw with feathery kisses, his manhood grew heavy, pulsating insistently against his thigh. Her scent surrounded him, making him forget all else but the lush woman in his arms.

She gave a pathetic shove against his chest. “My lord, release me before someone sees us.”

Her voice was a wispy breath.

He wound an arm about her shoulders, then lifted her chin. “Is that truly what you wish?”

Her chocolate eyes round and pensive, she stared at his mouth. When she wet her lips with her pink tongue, he was undone.

Groaning, he lowered his head and touched her lips. He moved his mouth across their sweetness, cajoling, enticing. Sweeping his tongue across her bottom lip, he urged her to part her mouth. With a whimper, she sagged against him, and opened to his tender probing.

At once he plunged his tongue into the sweet cavern. Timid at first, Adaira soon met his passion, twirling and jousting with her small tongue. Crushing her to him, her breasts smashed against his chest, he ground his erection into her soft belly. She clung to his shoulders, a throaty moan escaping her as he devoured her with his mouth.

Skimming a hand up her side, he cupped a breast, flicking the hardened nub with his thumb. He slid his hand inside her bodice, closing it around the exquisite softness of one warm breast. Perfection in his palm.

Her guttural groan of pleasure sent a jolt of pure lust exploding through his veins. Already hard as marble, his knees nearly buckled from the new surge of desire, so intense, the sensation bordered on pain. He clenched his teeth against the exquisite torture. It was all he could do not to lift her skirts and take her against the stable door.

A vision of him buried deep inside her, his hands gripping her bare buttocks, her head thrown back and her legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped into her sliced through his mind.

Bugger and blast!

What was wrong with him? He wasn’t given to lewd imaginations or undressing women with his eyes. He mightn’t be a saint, but he had a distinct moral standard. What was it about her that had him off kilter?

“
Je ne peux pa vous résister
? Why can’t I resist you?”

Startled he’d spoken his thoughts, Roark opened his eyes. Adaira seemed unaware. Her dark lashes fanned her flushed cheeks, and her silky mouth was parted. Her hands had crept up his chest to clasp behind his neck.

Her kisses were tantalizing ambrosia, making him forget who she was. Who he was. Making him overlook the oaths he’d made to remain beyond reproach, to conduct himself as a gentleman.

A thud reverberated against the outside stable wall.

Adaira went rigid, trying to pull out of his embrace.

“Please, Roark, my standing with my family is already precarious.” She angled away from him. “I cannot bear anymore indignity.”

Nearby voices carried into the stable. She swung her head toward the entrance.

“Let go!” Panic crept into her voice when he didn’t immediately release her.

She flicked her anxious gaze to his. Her beautiful eyes widened, the yellow-green specks sparking in shock, before she quickly lowered her lashes. He hadn’t been able to disguise his lust. She’d seen it in his eyes.

That and primordial possession.

Her distress seemed genuine. Roark wrinkled his brow.

He released her, then stepped away, putting a respectable distance between them. Confound it, he’d lost control. It infuriated him. And fiend seize it, he’d spoken his thoughts aloud again. Blasted inconvenient that. With her, he couldn’t be sure what precisely would tumble off his tongue. She had him completely out of step.

For all his high talk of propriety, he’d just compromised her. Again. Why did he find her so enticing? Irresistible?

Once free, Adaira raised shaky fingers to her lips, staring at him with her soft brown eyes wide and wary.

And alarmed.

He dipped his gaze to her disheveled bodice, a smile curving his mouth at her unintentional display.

You’re a lout, Roark.

Indeed he was. She brought out the worst in him. Foul family tendencies he’d managed to keep suppressed until she came along were rearing their vulgar heads.

Furrowing her brow, her gaze sank to her breasts. The tip of one dusky nipple peeked above the ivory lace. Yanking the material upward, she speared him with a barbed scowl. Color swept her face. “Duddering oaf.”

Adaira swiveled toward the far doors. She took but a half dozen steps before she stopped abruptly. “Curses.”

She whipped around and stalked back the other way, muttering under her breath. She ignored Roark when she passed him except for a crossly muttered, “Rutting cawker.”

The voices grew louder. Lifting her skirts, she dashed to the entrance, snatching the parasol propped there. Whirling around, she charged in his direction once more.

This spirited woman was preferable to the passive one he’d first held in his embrace.

The thought took him by surprise. Crossing his arms, he angled his head and watched her march toward him. He chuckled as she passed by.

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, meshing her lips together. Oh, she wanted to ring a peal over his head, to scold him soundly. Roark could see it in the sideways glower she tossed him. Citrine sparks glittered in the depths of her lovely eyes. The nostrils of her adorable, freckled, turned-up nose were flared, and her cheeks glowed with two fetching pink spots.

She’d gone from impassioned to piqued in an instant. He’d wager ten pounds it required all of her resolve not to give him a firm set down. Or wallop him with the parasol she unconsciously held like her riding crop. He made no effort to curb his smile of amusement. She was a delightful conglomeration of transparent emotions.

He rather liked that. He much preferred honesty over the wintry, unreadable facades affected by many of the
ton’s
denizens
.
Delia had mastered the art to perfection. Ice goddess on the exterior while a harlot’s heart burned within.

“Adaira, wait.” Sethwick strode into the stable, Gregor and Dugall on either side of him.

Adaira threw back her head and issued a low groan, clearly miffed. Without looking behind her, she took a couple tentative steps forward. Feigning a cough, Roark barely smothered another laugh behind his hand. He’d no doubt she’d every intention of bolting from the stable, pretending not to hear her brother.

Striding in her direction, Sethwick called to her again. “Adaira, please wait. I wish to speak to you.”

Heaving a gusty sigh, she turned. “Yes, Ewan?”

Her voice was soft, resigned. Her gaze skimmed Dugall and Gregor before it settled someplace over Sethwick’s shoulder. She’d not meet his eyes. Ah, she’d not forgiven her brother for his role in her chastisement. Roark, she pointedly ignored. He might well have been a fly on dung for all the attention she paid him.

Dugall nudged Gregor hard in the ribs. “Do me eyes deceive me, or is me sister wearing a pretty dress? In the stables?”

Giving her a cocky grin, he waggled his eyebrows at her.

Adaira quirked one brow. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me in a gown before, Dugall.”

“Aye lass, we have, many times.” Gregor nodded and grinned, his eyes dancing with mirth. “But, ye have to admit, it’s the first time ye’ve boasted long gloves and a lacy parasol when entertaining the beasties.”

Tapping her leg with the sunshade, she muttered, “
Some
people think it’s more suitable. Ludicrous, if you ask me.”

Dugall’s gaze hovered on Roark for a moment.

“Since when do ye care what others think, Addy?” Kindness replaced the humor in his voice.

Pain whisked across Adaira’s face before she schooled her features. Roark didn’t miss the tensing of her shoulders or her fisted hands. A wounded glint lingered in her eyes.

Roark cast Dugall a sharp look.

Of course she should care what others thought. That was the problem with society today. Too many rogue men and women casting off propriety and structure, behaving as they were want to without consideration for decorum and respectability.

Was Dugall unaware of Roark’s conditions? Or, if he was aware, was he encouraging his sister’s wayward habits?

Ignoring Dugall’s question, she turned her attention to Sethwick. “Ewan, you have need of something?”

He grinned at her, his eyes filled with affection. “Here now, why the Friday face? I wanted to tell you Clarendon,” he sent a friendly glance Roark’s way, “has graciously agreed to allow Fionn to stable at Cadbury Park. We’ll be able to commence with the breeding project while we’re his guests.”

Adaira’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes darkened to ebony. She swung her astounded gaze to meet Roark’s, and then back to Sethwick. There wasn’t a jot of acquiescence in her stiff stance. Her spine was so taut, Roark feared she’d fracture into pieces if he so much as sneezed.

She squared her dainty shoulders and tilted her small chin stubbornly. “This hasn’t been discussed with me.”

Still smiling, Sethwick approached her. He brushed several black strands of hair of his forehead. “Aye, it has. Hugh told me he spoke to you. . .”

Her control snapped. “Nae!” she spat. “Father said it
might
, be one of
his
conditions.”

She flung a hand in Roark’s direction.