“Her name is Buttercup, and I am told she is one of the Marchioness’s favorites,” supplied Camden.
His mouth was so incredibly close to her ear that his breath warmed her neck. A tantalizing shiver ran through her, and she took a step back to put some distance between her and the Viscount.
Ever careful not to offend, she asked, “Is it all right if I ride her?”
“You have the Marchioness’s blessing since she’s had little time for such activity of late,” he replied. “Ready?”
Before she could react, his large hands spanned her waist, instantly setting her pulses aflutter, and he lifted her up onto the saddle as though she were weightless. She refused to thank him for such cavalier treatment and became busy gathering up the reins and arranging her skirts across Buttercup’s back. All the while, she reminded herself of her resolve to stay on her guard, for this man was a Casanova of the first order. Besides, fluttering pulses were for schoolroom misses.
Together they trotted out of the stable yard and allowed their mounts to pick up speed crossing the park, heading toward a section of woods. Even at this pace, Chloe could see that Camden was continually checking the stallion’s fidgets. She appreciated his thoughtfulness, for it gave her time to get acquainted with the mare’s gait. In the woods, the bridle path was fairly wide, so they rode abreast, letting the horses stretch their strides into a canter, though the Viscount still held the huge Brutus back from an all out gallop.
Coming out of the trees, they reined in their mounts. A large grassy clearing stretched out before them, and with a challenging glint in his eyes, Camden looked over at Chloe. “Shall we?”
Her answer was a deceptively demure smile before she nudged Buttercup with her boot to take the lead. It was a glorious feeling, flying over the tall green grass with beads of dew sparkling like brilliants as the morning sun beamed down. The wind whipped the pins from her hair, freeing her honey curls to stream out behind her as horse and rider tore across the field.
But the heady experience was short lived. Camden’s black came charging up behind her with its massive hooves churning up the turf and was soon abreast with the mare. Chloe felt Buttercup respond to the challenge as the dappled gray extended its sleek neck in a new burst of speed. Yet, both rider and horse knew it was futile as man and beast pulled ahead.
Then a shot rang out.
In horror, Chloe watched Camden fall back on his horse and plunge to the ground to lay motionless. Brutus, whether because the horse was suddenly without any restraints or spooked by the shot, bolted and was soon out of sight.
Pulling sharply on the reins, Chloe brought Buttercup to a halt. Frightened half out of her wits, she twisted her head from side to side, frantically looking about. As she tried to determine from where the shot came, she wondered if she should make a run for it.
Her eyes came to rest on the fallen Viscount, lying so still, his eyes closed. For a long moment, she sat atop the mare, barely breathing, watching him for a sign of life. A bright flash in the woods caught her attention. The sun had reflected off the metal barrel of a gun, and she glimpsed a man through the trees, bent low over a horse, riding deeper into the woods.
Somehow it registered that the immediate danger had passed, and this galvanized her into action. Chloe jumped down from Buttercup and scurried to the stricken Viscount. Dropping to her knees, she leaned over and carefully inspected his body for injuries. It took a second examination to find the wound because of the dark claret jacket he wore. The wide lapels hid the blood seeping through his left shoulder. With shaking hands, she untied his cravat and pulled his jacket and shirt front open, exposing the shoulder.
A great deal of blood was pooling about his collar bone, making it impossible to tell how bad or deep the wound was. Quickly, she reached down and tore a swatch of white muslin from her petticoat and wadded it up to place it over the wound. She applied pressure and prayed the bleeding would cease.
Dreadfully long seconds passed. Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and he dazedly stared at her. Then without warning, he lunged at her, throwing her backwards, forcing her down on the grass.
“Stay still,” he ordered when she tried to push him away.
Once she understood he was using his own body to shield hers, she met his fierce midnight blue stare and calmly said, “It is safe now, my lord.”
After a few moments, he raised his eyes and scanned the line of woods before returning them to her face. He seemed to accept her word as fact and let his body sag against hers. She took his full weight, though it left her nearly breathless.
His head had dropped down beside hers, his face buried in her loose hair. She wiggled in an effort to free herself, and a husky groan escaped him. He raised his head, covered her lips with his, and ruthlessly kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth.
Chloe was unprepared for his ardent assault and struggled to ease herself out from under him. She soon realized that her movements were doing little to repulse him. Far from it, in fact, they seemed to excite him even more. Hoping to bring some sanity to the situation, she laid still, and perforce, his kisses began to work their magic on her.
She remembered another intimate embrace under the dark stairwell with this complicated, mysterious and dangerous man. Just as then, she was completely absorbed by the kiss with his insistent tongue exploring, probing and igniting, until her own pulse rose alarmingly. She welcomed his embrace as her one hand went around his neck and the other progressed slowly from his chest to his back, reveling in the contours of his muscular physique.
Likewise, using his good arm, Camden sensually stroked the side of her body, caressing every inch. He’d moved his hand to rest tentatively on her breast before he began massaging her. He was lost, lost in her sweetness, the feel of her slender, feminine form, her silky tresses. His other arm was pinned between their two bodies, completely anesthetized to the pain in his shoulder. He focused only on his passionate need to possess the lovely creature beneath him.
His hand at her breast began working at unbuttoning the front of her riding habit, hungry for the feel of her warm flesh. He was vaguely aware of the changes in her movements, from loverlike caresses to panicky pushes and shoves. That is, until she boxed him good on his ear.
His ardor had frightened her. He saw it the minute his eyes flew open and met her wide, panic-stricken hazel ones. Exercising great restraint, he gingerly rolled off her onto his back.
For a full minute, they laid side by side, both panting to quiet raging emotions. She began to rise and he, too, came up slowly on unsteady feet as he concentrated on regaining his equanimity.
Standing before him with her eyes downcast, Chloe fought back tears. She experienced the most disgusting anger for herself as she’d succumbed like a wanton to his caresses. Worst, she was confused. Seriously wounded as he was, how had he been able to overpower her so?
“I suppose I should apologize,” he said hoarsely as she blurted out, “I am sorry.”
He seemed fascinated by the blush that Chloe felt burning her face. He took her chin gently in his good hand and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Never apologize to me for your kisses,” he said huskily.
“Ohhh, you insufferable clod!” Chloe saw red and swung her fist up, connecting with his jaw.
“Damn!” Camden glared at her as he removed a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. “What in hell’s name made you do that?”
“I was not apologizing for . . . for kissing you, my lord, nor my behavior, which was as reprehensible as yours. I meant I was sorry I hit you.”
“So sorry, in fact, that you were compelled to repeat the offense?” he asked incredulously. “’Tis a sad fact that your sex is proclaimed to be the weaker, for I can certainly vouch you’d make a deuced fine pugilist,” he said feelingly.
“You are insulting,” she retorted and turned on her heel to gather up Buttercup’s reigns. Grabbing the sides of the saddle, she used it to h
oist herself up with a small jump, hooked her boot in the stirrup and turned into the saddle.
“What are you planning to do?” he demanded.
“Exactly what it looks like. I am going to get help,” she said with asperity.
“You would ride off and abandon me here?”
She looked down on him, noting the tightness about his eyes and mouth and her heart melted. He presented a pitiful figure, albeit huge and alluringly handsome with ruffled clothing and tousled hair.
“You would do better to lie down and apply pressure to that wound while I am gone,” replied Chloe, refusing to relent to his entreaty.
“What if my attacker returns?” He swept his one good arm to show his defenselessness, lacking a weapon as he did.
“What would you suggest? Surely, you cannot be thinking of riding double?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Why not? Buttercup may be a lady’s mount, but she is sturdy and can carry both our weights if we proceed slowly.”
She bit her lower lip, mentally searching for another option. But it was clear he was injured. She just didn’t know how badly. And it would be heartless to leave him alone in his present condition, particularly if the unknown assailant should return to finish his evil deed.
“Very well,” she conceded ungraciously. “But you will keep your hands to yourself.”
“Whatever you wish, Miss Woodforde.” He beamed up wickedly at her.
Mentally acknowledging how greedily she’d accepted his advances, she diverted her eyes. Then she slipped her foot from the stirrup so he could use it to swing himself up behind her. Laying his arm across the back of the saddle, the infuriating man shamelessly pressed it against her derriere before he availed himself of the use of the stirrup.
“I, ah, do need to hold on to something,” he said, swinging up to settle closely behind her. Winding his good arm about her waist, he pulled her against him. “Otherwise, I’m likely to be bounced off Buttercup’s rump and do myself further injury.”
She threw him a smoldering look over her shoulder but said nothing.
After they had retreated into the woods, he queried languidly, “You didn’t follow Brutus’s lead and leave me to my fate?” Although his voice was low and weak, Chloe saw that his eyes darted about and wondered if he suspected the possibility of another ambush.
“I almost did,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I feared what would become of you, left alone and unconscious.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You were unconscious?”
The smile he flashed full of meaning. “Until I felt the gentle hand of an angel touching me.” He turned serious, however, giving her a speculative look. “You risked your life for me again.”
“Well, as to that, I saw your attacker leaving before I dismounted.”
“You saw him?”
“Not so that I could tell who he was. The sun reflected off his gun, and I could see the vague outline of a horse and rider making off in the woods.” As she remembered how close the man behind her had come to death, a shiver shook her frame.
Responding to her distress, Camden drew her closer and said, “I’ve a small derringer in my left boot should he chance to come back, so we won’t be totally defenseless.”
“You did not tell me that earlier?” Trying to loosen his hold, she twisted around. How he manipulated her to do his bidding provoked her beyond belief.
“Should I have told you, my sweet Chloe? By chance, do you shoot as well as you kiss?” he asked provocatively.
She could not let this comment pass. She was very sensitive of her weakness for him and perceived he was having fun at her virginal expense. Thus his words seemed cruel. Impulsively, she reared back with a well aimed elbow and delivered a sharp blow to his rib cage.
“Ouff! Damn, woman,” he growled, yanking her against him. “Have a care.”
“Then leave me alone.” Chloe was desperately trying to hide her hurt as she fought back tears.
Intimately aware of him pressed up against her back, she was comforted by his embrace even as her pulse raced in response to his proximity. Drat the man, anyway. He was a cheat, a scoundrel, and a spy to boot. Why was it he made her bones melt when it was obvious he held her in so little regard?
“You wrong me, Chloe, if you think I’m merely trifling with you,” he replied. “But be wise and steer clear of me.”
Both were silent with their own thoughts. The clomping of the mare’s hooves, though muffled by the spongy forest trail, seemed to be reverberating about the quiet woods. Well before Buttercup broke clear of the woods, they glimpsed the colossal block structure of Clairmont Court through the trees with the easterly sun glinting off the front windows. They headed straight for the stable yard and the curious eyes of the grooms. This time when the Viscount gave her a gentle squeeze, Chloe made no objections.
*** Chapter 13 ***
If the grooms thought anything unusual of their bedraggled appearances or wondered why Miss Woodforde and Viscount Camden were riding double, they were too well trained to mention either, especially when they considered the peculiarities of the Quality. To the man, the stable hands never so much as blinked an eye over Camden’s explanation that Brutus had been spooked by a rabbit, throwing his lordship to the dirt and then bolting out of sight. Neither did Camden make any objections when the head groom ordered two men to ride out to look for the missing Brutus.
With the wide lapel of his jacket covering most of the expanding crimson stain, none of the stablemen became alerted to Camden’s injury. And while Chloe saw his grimace, he held his left arm stiff against his side and dismounted without aid. When she went to alight, the Viscount stepped back to allow a groom to assist her. With growing dread, she suspected the wound was more serious than his amorous advances had led her to believe.
Stooping to pick up the trailing skirts of her habit that she belatedly realized were covered with twigs and grass, she straightened up to find Camden’s right arm across her shoulders. As they made their way to the house, she grew more concerned, for he actually leaned against her and let her carry some of his weight.
It was still early yet, so they encountered no one other than a couple of footmen at the front door and a parlor maid on the stairs.
Upon reaching his bedroom door, Chloe asked, “Will you summon your valet?” When Camden replied that he hadn’t traveled with his manservant, she never gave it another thought but slipped inside the room with him and eased him down upon a large four-poster bed draped in blue brocade. “Someone should be sent to get the doctor,” she said.
Immediately he shook his head and emphatically said, “No, no doctor. No one must know of this.”
Loathed to leave him alone, she resolved to tend to his wound herself. It seemed only right since he’d done no less for her when she had needed help. Telling him she’d be right back, she first made sure no one was about the hallway, slipped out the door, and raced down the hall to her own bedchamber. There, she rummaged through several drawers of the bureau until she came across an old petticoat. Tucking the garment under her arm, she crossed the hall and cautiously opened her aunt’s door, then paused to listen.
From the sounds of soft snoring, Chloe deduced that Lady Milbanke was fast asleep and wasted little time. Ducking in to snatch the silver flask on the bedside table, she gave it a good shake to make sure there was still some whisky left in it. On her way out, she came face to face with Hannah, carrying her mistress’s breakfast tray, a steaming pot of tea and a plate of cinnamon toast.
“And just where do you think you’re going with that, Missy?” asked the abigail in an accusing whisper. “Your aunt’ll be looking for it before too very long.”
“Aunt Sophia is asleep and will stay that way if you do not wake her,” Chloe answered. “I promise to return shortly.” She was out the door and down the hall before Hannah could make any further objections.
She found the Viscount’s door locked, so she tapped lightly. It was several moments before it opened just enough
for one dark blue orb to peer out. Seeing she was alone, he held the door ajar, wide enough to stretch out his arm for the wadded up petticoat. Chloe, however, put her shoulder to the door, pushing on it until she’d slipped through.
“Trying to compromise me?” he asked sarcastically.
His eyes were missing their wicked glint as he leaned wearily against the wall next to the door jam. He was nude from the waist up, and her eyes, opened wide, were riveted to the broad muscular expanse. Dark hair on his left shoulder was matted with blood that trickled down the thick hair line of his chest, which then narrowed to a vee and disappeared into his breeches. Chloe felt a blush heat her body to her very toes. Forcing her eyes upward, it was hard for her to read his expression, though she noted the gray pallor underneath his bronzed skin and decided now was not the time to let his acerbic tongue to wound her missish sensibilities.
“More like trying to keep you from bleeding to death, my lord,” she answered candidly.
“Don’t you think under such intimate circumstances you could call me Oliver?”
Ignoring the jibe, she ordered him to be seated in an arm chair over by the window. She drew back the drapes to let the morning sun pour in and looked down on a magnificent view of the front gardens.
He laughed when she turned around and produced the flask from the voluminous folds of white muslin and placed it on the small octagon table next to his chair. While she tore up the old petticoat into strips, he reached for the flask and used his teeth to pull the glass stopper out and took one long swallow.
After completing her task, she glanced about the spacious room, decorated in shades of blue and cream with heavy masculine furnishings of rich mahogany. Spotting a porcelain pitcher on top of a small bureau, she splashed some water into a matching basin. Carrying it back to the table, she dipped one strip of muslin into it and began to cleanse the wound. Thankfully, she noted that the bullet had not lodged in the shoulder, though it had deeply seared the flesh, leaving a long, angry graze that continued to ooze blood.
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