Wearing that simple homespun frock, she’d transformed into a new being—a lush creature who lived at her leisure, existing somewhere between wild meadows and shade trees. And he was filled with a sudden and strange desire to live in that world with her.
“I heard whickering,” she explained at his approach, stroking a hand along the stallion’s velvety neck. “I just knew there was a horse nearby. And look! Isn’t he lovely?”
The horse snuffled her other hand, searching for more clover. And when she bent down and liberated additional flowers that were just beyond the edge of the fence, he nudged her affectionately with his long head.
Asher’s pulse was still rioting, his lungs tight, but from a new brand of panic that he refused to name. It made him testy. Uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Winn, you can’t go scampering off into the unknown just because you think there might be a horse nearby. What if the horse were carrying a rider who saw you and decided to—”
“To whot? To kidnap me?” She rolled her eyes. “It may surprise you to learn this, but you have been the only man inspired to run off with me in my entire life. And it’s solely because you need money.”
He highly doubted that any man seeing her in this moment would ever be able to leave her. She had an appealing, freshly tumbled look about her, all flushed and inviting.
Asher cleared his throat and cast his gaze skyward, stuffing those dangerous thoughts behind the darkening clouds. “We should go before the weather turns. The next village cannot be far now.”
“Or . . .” she hedged, biting her bottom lip. “We could get much farther if we borrowed him for a day or two.”
“I see that your friends aren’t the only ones who believe they can take what doesn’t belong to them, whenever fancy strikes.”
“Jane and Ellie didn’t steal from you. They merely wanted you for our research. And besides, who’s to say that you had any money of your own in the first place? After all, you’re not particularly flush at the moment.”
He stiffened his shoulders, offended. “I won every last farthing through my own efforts.”
“Gambling?” She scoffed. “A twin to thievery, if you ask me. A man wouldn’t gamble at all unless he knew he could win. No man would choose to beggar himself.”
“Then you’d be surprised how often it happens.”
“What I meant to say is that every man who gambles is essentially hoping to take what doesn’t belong to him. Therefore, the money you claim to have been stolen wasn’t even yours to begin with.”
“Listen here, Miss I-can-buy-the-world-with-a-silver-button,” he said, speaking over her huff of indignance. “When a man sits down at a gaming table, he knows the risk. He’s just hoping that his cards are better than his opponent’s, or that he can make him think they are.”
She set her hands on her hips. “Now you’re admitting to employing deceptive means to take what doesn’t belong to you. Yet when it comes to borrowing this horse, you’re struck with a sudden bout of scruples.”
“In case you aren’t aware, the cost for horse thievery is rather high.” His hand lifted to encircle his cravat in an automatic gesture.
“We won’t get caught. Victor will make sure of it.”
“And who is Victor?”
She scratched the horse’s nose. “Isn’t it obvious? He looks very much like a Victor—a champion of the downtrodden that will race toward victory no matter the cost. Won’t you, my dear boy?”
“A pampered heiress wouldn’t even know how to ride without a saddle.”
“You know nothing of me,” she said with a sniff, her eyes dancing with mischievous light. “When I was younger, I started slipping out of my bedchamber at dawn, stealing down to the stables of our country house to visit the horses. Some of them looked so lonely, so in need of the wind in their faces, that I could not help myself.
“Admittedly, my initial equestrian escapade was terrifying. I fell four times before even leaving the stall. But Henrietta was patient with me, and soon we were off, racing over the meadow and away from the sun cresting over the house.”
Asher wouldn’t have believed it of the woman he’d first met. But now, he could picture it clearly—her wild hair whipping in the wind, lilting laughter bubbling from her throat as she tried to outrace the rising of every new day.
He understood that feeling. That yearning for freedom.
He used to sneak away at dawn as well, wanting more than anything to leave the chaos his father created. However, invariably, the thought of abandoning his mother to face the obsessive spending and gambling episodes alone had always brought him back.
Winn gazed at him with beseeching hazel eyes. “If there was another way, I wouldn’t even think of it. But as it stands, if we remain on foot, I fear it will take weeks for us to arrive at my aunt’s, and I”—she hesitated, lifting one shoulder in an uncertain shrug—“I couldn’t bear it if you missed the opportunity of a lifetime all because of me.”
Stunned, he stared back at her, mute as the buttons on his waistcoat.
Had she come up with this plan to steal a horse because she was worried about him? This was a first. Aside from his few close friends, he’d grown accustomed to finding selfishness at the core of most people he met.
He didn’t quite know how to form a response. Had they truly been strangers just this morning? It didn’t seem possible. Even in such a short time, they already shared a similar understanding of the ways of the world, both of them living under the shadow of their parents’ choices. Both of them wanting more than anything to escape.
And she wasn’t like any of the other heiresses he’d met either. She wasn’t vain or spoiled, or expecting all to be handed to her on a silver platter. She’d even been grateful for the simple garment he’d procured. She hadn’t whined about walking, or lamented about her feet and her back aching. No, she bore it all with her own sort of grace.
And she was clever, too. Whenever she needed to pause to catch her breath, she did so by pointing at a flower, an insect or a bird and stating its Latin name. My goodness, could that possibly be a Fringilla coelebs?
Never letting on that he suspected she was tired, he would stop on the path to offer his full attention. With such a bright blue cap, you could almost mistake him for a Cyanistes caeruleus if not for his red feathered drawers.
You seem to look for undergarments in every creature you encounter.
Only the ones with the brightest plumage.
Thinking about it, he almost grinned. All in all, Winnifred Humphries was quite a revelation.
Be that as it may, she still wanted to steal a horse, and her proposal turned his thoughts back to their current dilemma.
By now, those two henchmen would have discovered that Asher and Winn didn’t return to London. And since the men had wagered on London or Gretna Green, Asher knew they’d make a beeline northward. Odds were, they’d cross paths at some point . . . unless Asher and Winn could get ahead of them.
“Very well,” he said, resigned.
Winn issued a squeal of delight that made his skin tingle warmly. With the way her eyes were dancing, he expected her to leap off the stile and directly into his arms. His muscles reacted with a jolt of anticipation and he exhaled, preparing his lungs for his next breath to be filled with her sweet scent.
But instead, she wrapped her arms around Victor’s neck and gave him an exuberant kiss. “Did you hear that? We’re going on an outing together.”
Asher frowned, refusing to be jealous of a horse. And yet . . . was it his imagination, or did Victor just cast an arrogant wink his way? Stranger still, his whickering sounded like a knowing chuckle.
Winn straightened, giving him a final pat. The horse angled his head to Asher and tossed his mane in a shake, clearly all too pleased with himself.
“There’s no need to glower,” Winn said to Asher, misunderstanding. Stepping down from the stile, she slipped her soft hand into his. “You won’t be sorry. It’s the perfect plan. Nothing
can possibly go wr—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish.
A roar of thunder interrupted. Then a crack of lightning broke through the sky, startling Victor. He reared back on his hind legs and took off like a shot toward the hill as the clouds opened.
Through a curtain of fat, dousing raindrops, Asher lifted the shawl above Winn’s head. Then he shrugged out of his tailored coat and held it over both of them.
“I know. I know. You don’t have to say anything,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
He was struck by a dangerous impulse to kiss those pouting lips, and not for the first time. With circumstances forcing them in such close proximity, was it any wonder he was tempted?
And yet, he wasn’t going to cross that line. It would only complicate the bargain, which was already far more complicated than even she understood.
“Come on, Winn. Let’s follow the horse and wait out the storm.”
* * *
Winnifred was shivering to her toes in the stable loft. A row of loose boards creaked beneath her feet, with prickly strips of straw falling between the uneven spaces to the empty stall below. But at least they were out of the rain.
Victor had known precisely where to go. He’d raced up the hill toward this rickety old barn with a peaked roof and crooked red-stained wooden door. With a turn of his long head, he looked back as if to make certain they followed, then nudged the door open. It tilted inward on a slant, rusty hinges groaning with effort. Inside, he trotted over to his stall, clearly quite used to his solitary afternoon escapades across the meadow.
Even so, it felt strange to trespass here with a thatched cottage not too far in the distance and curls of smoke rising from the stone chimney.
“Winn, this isn’t the time to be shy,” Asher said from the base of the ladder. “Toss down your dress.”
She blushed to the roots of her hair. Unfortunately, even turning crimson wasn’t enough to warm her frozen fingers and stop her teeth from chattering.
“I’m n-not b-being shy,” she stammered, fumbling with the fastenings. “Y-you’ve already s-seen me w-without the dress.”
“You’re quite right. Therefore, there’s no reason to stand upon ceremony.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, the top of his head emerged over the edge of the loft. She might have gasped at his audacity, but then the rest of him came into view and her mind whirred to a sudden stop.
Asher Holt was naked.
Well, mostly. His bare, broad shoulders and sinewy arms appeared first, muscles shifting and bunching beneath his skin as he navigated the final rungs—and far more adeptly than she had done. Then he unfolded from a crouch, and stood.
Her greedy eyes skimmed the length of him, taking in every . . . blessed . . . inch.
Dark hair lightly furred his chest, accentuating the fascinatingly hard lines and ridges of his lean torso, then tapered down from the shadow of his navel and into the waist of his breeches. The doeskin hung splendidly low on his hips, clinging to the outline of solid thighs where the fabric was still damp and darker. And beneath the bottom cuffs—buttoned at the knee—dark hair dusted wide, muscular calves and the tops of his sizeable feet.
“With the way the wind is howling through the wood slats, our clothes will be dry in no time at all,” he said, dragging her attention to his face as he stood in front of her. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same for the bread.”
She blinked and saw his gaze fixed on hers. Dimly she felt a tug, the drag of one sleeve, then the other. “P-pardon?”
His lips quirked in a grin. “I said, we lost the bread.”
“Oh, that’s dreadful. I was looking forward to it.” Her voice sounded faraway to her own ears, as if in a dream.
“Lift your arms over your head. That’s it,” he said, and she moved without putting much thought into her actions. Her gaze drifted again over his magnificently bare throat, arms and chest until they were briefly blocked by a quick blur of green. “And don’t worry. We still have a bit of cheese, and I found a few carrots in a pail. I’m sure Victor won’t mind sharing.”
“You’re not wearing your shirtsleeves,” she said inanely. “This is far better than a tour of a museum.”
He chuckled, settling a coarse brown blanket around her shoulders. “The Elgin marbles or the Egyptian sarcophagus?”
“Both. Although I’ll never remember the marbles quite the same. Zeus will be very much alive.”
“As long as you aren’t comparing me to Aphrodite I won’t take offense,” he said with a wink before turning away to skillfully navigate the rungs once more. From below, he called out, “We’ll eat first, have a rest, and leave while there’s still daylight to guide our way.”
She looked down at herself. The vague fog of the last few moments cleared away with sudden, scalding clarity.
She wasn’t wearing a dress. And when she saw her toes peeking out from beneath her hem, she realized she wasn’t wearing stockings either. Oh wait, she thought, recalling that she had removed those first, draping the mud-crusted silk over the side to dry.
Even so, Asher was alarmingly good at removing a lady’s garments. She made a mental note of this for the primer.
Yet he’d done so with such practiced, impersonal efficiency that he’d kept her from feeling she needed to worry at all about improper advances. In fact, other than his rakish words and a few errant touches, he’d been an absolute gentleman.
Drat it all.
Was it too much to ask if, for once in her life, she’d incite a man’s carnal interest? That would make a far more interesting chapter.
Asher returned to her a moment later, the frayed rope of a wooden pail clenched between his teeth until he breached the last rung. Then he dangled it from the crook of his finger as he sketched a bow. “Your feast, my lady.”
Surreptitiously, her gaze roamed over his form again. A pang of hunger clenched tight in her midriff. “Thank you, I’m ravenous.”
“I can see that,” he said with a low, wicked laugh that made her blush. Perhaps her ogling wasn’t as furtive as she’d hoped. Wearing nothing more than breeches and a grin, he brushed his hand against hers and tugged on her fingertips. “Come and eat your fill.”
Was it her imagination, or was every word he spoke salacious?
The terrible part was, she wanted to keep gawking. Looking at him was the only thing that warmed her. Though out of a sense of decency, she forced herself to stop and sat with him near the edge of the loft, dangling her feet.
“It’s kind of you to agree to my scheme,” she said as she broke the wedge of cheese and handed him the larger portion. An unwelcome rise of guilt twisted in her stomach. Looking around her, it was plain to see that the farmer couldn’t afford much. “But I’m beginning to wonder if borrowing Victor is a good plan, after all.”
Asher chewed thoughtfully for a moment, studying her with an intensity that made her wonder what he saw.
After a day of walking until she was exhausted, aching, hair in a mass of tangles, she was a complete wreck. And somewhere along the way, the sole of her left shoe had broken and the ball of her foot felt bruised. Yet while she could do nothing about her appearance, she refused to make matters worse by whining. What would be the point? After all, they were both in this together. And there was something comforting in that.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, handing her a carrot after he wiped it clean on his pantleg. “When I first heard your voice and the way you chided your friends for their escapade, I thought you’d be prim and stuffy, with pursed lips and hair cinched in a tight coiffure.”
“Believe me, my mother would praise the heavens if my hair ever stayed in any sort of arrangement and if my freckles suddenly disappeared. Though, after today, I’ve likely sprouted a dozen new ones.”
He took her chin, tilting her head in the warm grasp of his thumb and forefinger to scrutinize her nose and cheeks. Then he nodded and released her while a grin played on his lips. “Jus
t one more. You started out with seven and now there are eight.”
She frowned, averting her face to rub her fingertips over her nose, and wishing for porcelain skin.
“I like your freckles.”
Marginally wounded by his teasing, she groused. “There’s little I can do about it. I’ve tried lemon juice and dusting powders to no avail. You will just have to suffer with my appearance for a short while longer.”
Once more, he took gentle possession of her chin and held her gaze. “I like your freckles, Winn. And I don’t ever want you to think of bleaching them with lemon or concealing them with powder. They’re quite lovely just the way they are.”
She frowned, confused as to why he would say such things. Freckles were dreadful. Everyone knew it. Though, clearly, he thought she’d been seeking some sort of pacification. “Well, then you can have them.”
His gaze turned warmer, lingering on those imperfections as if he actually wanted them. As if he were laying claim to each one.
She tried to look away but there was some reckless part of her that simply couldn’t. All at once, her throat felt impossibly dry and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. That small, insignificant action seemed to cause his pupils to expand like spills of elderberry syrup on linen, and his nostrils flared. Then his thumb skimmed over the crest of her chin, sliding into the tender valley beneath her bottom lip and releasing a shower of tingles inside her that tightened her lungs. He made her breathless. And worse, he filled her thoughts with the preposterous notion that he might kiss her.
“They turn darker when you blush,” he said, his low, drowsy tone fluttering inside her stomach. “Those tiny flecks of amber turn to burnished bronze right before my eyes.”
Her cheeks caught fire and he grinned.
“You keep trying to make them seem appealing, but it isn’t w-working,” she said, an unexpected shiver stealing over her.
Asher instantly curved his palms over her arms and proceeded to winnow away every chill with sure, measured strokes. Dimly, she wondered if he was this familiar with every woman he met.
Lord Holt Takes a Bride Page 11
