How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1)

by Karen Hawkins

  Oblivious, Miss Muriella turned to Aunt Margaret. “Mama and Papa are in the sitting room. Mama said to tell you that as MacDougal has brought them some tea, they are quite comfortable there until the carriage is brought around.”

  “Excellent. It will be a little while, for I want to get you all off on your adventure first. One of the footmen will bring hot tea to you here, too, so make certain you avail yourselves of it. Oh, there he is.” As the footman hurried over, balancing a tray with several steaming mugs, Aunt Margaret said, “There’s Lord Cameron and Mr. Munro. Pray excuse me as I introduce them to their mounts.”

  Sin smiled as Aunt Margaret went to greet the two men who had just exited the castle via the terrace doors. Miss Isobel continued to chatter on about various rides she’d taken and sights she’d seen, her sister often chiming in.

  They were all ready except for Rose. Should they send someone to her room to remind her of the time? Perhaps she’d overslept—

  The front doors opened and Rose walked onto the portico, the tail of her skirt thrown over one arm, her hat perched at an audacious angle upon her head. She paused and drew on her gloves.

  Sin wasn’t prepared for the way his chest instantly tightened, his body awakening as if she’d touched him.

  Her riding habit fit her perfectly, tight about her narrow waist and smooth over her small, rounded bosom, the skirts frothing over her hips to the ground. She wore a plain white scarf about her neck, neatly tucked into her riding coat. Her hair, pulled back from her face in a style as severe as her habit, emphasized her blue eyes and thick black lashes. With her hair confined, Sin noticed that Rose’s eyebrows were delicate slashes that tilted up a bit at the ends, giving her a devilish look.

  Miss Muriella giggled over her mug. “What sort of a riding habit is that?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Miss Isobel said, fingering the expensive lace at her wrists. “It’s a bit plain, don’t you think?”

  “Very plain and rather boring.” Miss Muriella’s gaze darted to Sin. “Don’t you think so, Lord Sinclair?”

  “Actually, no, I don’t. But what do I know of fashion?”

  Miss Isobel eyed him up and down and said in a voice heavy with approval, “More than most men, I’d say.”

  Miss Muriella pursed her lips. “I wonder who will win today’s challenge, you or Miss Rose? Of course we wagered on you, Lord Sinclair.”

  Miss Isobel nodded. “When will this race be held?”

  “After we reach our picnic area,” he lied.

  Both of the women looked disappointed. “We’ll have to wait that long?”

  “I’m afraid so. We’ll need to mark the course and set a judge at the finish.” He turned to them. “I hate to leave you, but I promised Aunt Margaret that I’d see that Miss Balfour knows which is her horse.”

  Miss Isobel fluttered her lashes. “I’ll see you on the trail.”

  “Of course.” He bowed to them and left, crossing the lawn. His intentions today were simple: to get Rose away from prying eyes and tempt her with more kisses. There was no need to rush into this seduction; everything pointed to his success. It would be foolish to ruin it with haste.

  He reached Rose’s side to find her staring at the ponies in surprise.

  “Those are for the Misses Stewart,” he told her.

  “Ah. And those slugs?” She pointed to the older horses.

  “For Mr. Munro and Lord Cameron.”

  She smiled. “So I get one of those, then.” She nodded to the gelding and mare that were being walked by two grooms.

  “The mare is yours,” Sin said. “Lady Charlotte said she is one of Roxburghe’s favorites.”

  “Roxburghe has excellent taste.” She eyed the horses as if they were on an auction block. “Excellent shoulders. Nice hocks, too. I’d wager she’s quick.”

  “Not as quick as my mount.” He nodded toward the brute he’d chosen.

  Rose looked at the horse critically. “He’s a beauty, but don’t be so certain he’s faster. Size doesn’t always guarantee performance.”

  His lips twitched. “If you say so. My aunt is gesturing that it’s time we mounted. Come, I’ll help you up.” He walked her to her horse and, with a groom holding the bridle, Sin placed his hands about her waist and lifted her.

  She was so small that he almost lifted her too high, throwing her into the saddle with a bit of a bump. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

  “From that? Heavens, no.” She laughed down at him, her eyes sparkling. “However, your masterful performance was duly noted by the Misses Stewart. I believe they’re waiting for you to assist them onto their horses, as well.”

  He turned and sure enough, both Misses Stewart had waved off the footmen and were standing by their ponies, looking at him expectantly.

  Sin glanced about for the other gentlemen, but both Mr. Munro and Lord Cameron were already mounted.

  He scowled up at Rose. “The least you can do is not look so pleased.”

  She gurgled with laughter, took the reins from the groom, and guided her horse to where the other riders were.

  Sin had no choice but to assist both Misses Stewart onto their ponies, then he mounted his own steed.

  “I believe you’re all ready now,” Aunt Margaret said from the front steps.

  “Except that we don’t know where we’re going,” Mr. Munro said, sitting upon his horse in a very uncomfortable manner. He looked a bit like a sack of flour stuffed into a too-tight riding coat.

  “You’re taking the river trail,” Aunt Margaret said. “Simply follow the road to the river and go north about a mile, and then cross the bridge. The road will take you through a forest and then along the river. It’s a very pretty ride and will lead you to the old castle ruin, where we’ll meet you with a cold luncheon.” She gestured toward the groom. “MacLure knows the way and he will ride with you.”

  Sin hadn’t noticed the groom until then. The man was his height—about six foot two—but broader and built like a bear. His bent and broken nose proclaimed him to be a prizefighter.

  The groom looked first at Rose, and then directly at Sin before he touched his hat as if in a salute. Sin cut a glance at his aunt just in time to see her gesturing at MacLure. On seeing Sin, she froze with such a hare-caught-by-a-hound look that he instantly understood. MacLure was their chaperone.

  Damn it! Aunt Margaret, what are you up to? Sin sent her a look so she would know that he was aware of her machinations, which only made her smile.

  Fuming, he turned his horse down the drive and set it to a smart trot. No groom would keep him away from Rose.

  Seven

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  If this were a chess game, I’d say “check.”

  Sin looked positively thunderous as he rode off this morning. He didn’t like the idea of having a chaperone, which proves how much one was needed.

  I do hope he doesn’t forget his manners. But if he does, I’m certain MacLure will remind him of them.

  Rose didn’t enjoy the first hour of her ride, as the slow pace tried her patience. I will gallop later, she told herself over and over.

  Her horse felt her impatience, too, and several times Rose had to rein the animal in when it tried to burst into a canter.

  The ride was pleasant, the wind not too chilly, the views beautiful and peaceful, but the wide, smooth trail begged to be galloped upon. Rose wished she could distract herself by talking to her fellow guests, but unfortunately, Mr. Munro had attached himself to her side. For the next half hour, he kept up a nonstop soliloquy whereby he expounded upon his views on nature, nature’s value, the overemphasis of nature in the education of the youth of today, and how dangerous nature could be if one didn’t respect it.

  The more he talked, the more the smooth path called to her. But there was no escape. The group rode two by two, so there was no chance of slipping past those in front of her.

  She leaned a bit to one side so that she could see Sin at the head of
their little retinue, riding a little in front of Miss Isobel Stewart’s pony so as to make conversation impossible. As he had the tallest horse and she the smallest, they made a ridiculous pair. Behind them, Lord Cameron held forth on the importance of good port to a wide-eyed Miss Muriella, who looked up at the older man as if he were as wise as Solomon.

  And behind them all rode the groom. Rose glanced back at him from time to time, but he merely smiled and touched his hat. I wonder why he’s with us. He’s not leading us, carrying supplies, or offering assistance. It was odd, to say the least.

  As if realizing her interest had waned, Mr. Munro changed his topic to the taxation of properties, managing to hint at his annual worth and how many houses he owned without sounding too conceited. Rose thought that anyone who considered taxation a better topic than nature deserved to be shot.

  After a while the sun managed to find a spot to peek from, and a gorgeous golden light shone down through the trees, dappling the green with its refreshing gleam.

  It was torture. Rose had just decided that she would rather offend the entire party and go galloping wildly into the woods than listen to another hour of Mr. Munro, when Sin held up a hand.

  The movement brought them all to a stop.

  Sin looked over his shoulder, his expression serious. “Did you hear that?”

  The group became silent.

  “I think . . . ” He tilted his head to one side as if to listen closer. “It sounded like a fox’s cry. I hope it’s not rabid. They can be very dangerous.”

  The Misses Stewart exchanged nervous glances, while Rose tugged off her gloves so that she could adjust her scarf where it had come loose.

  “’Ere now, me lord,” the groom said from where he’d pulled up behind the group. “Dinna be makin’ the ladies nervous.”

  Sin looked surprised. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I’m sure I heard the cry.” He moved his horse to the side of the path and looked at the groom. “Come and see if you can hear it.”

  MacLure clucked his horse and threaded his way past Rose and on to the front of the group. He pulled even with Sin and drew up his horse.

  They were silent as they sat, the horses occasionally puffing out a deep breath, or a bird tweeting overhead. Rose could hear the river faintly now.

  Mr. Munro broke the silence with a nervous laugh. “Lord Sinclair, perhaps you only think you heard a fox cry.”

  “No, I’m sure I heard it.” Sin turned his horse until it faced the others. “If we’ll be quiet a bit more, I know you will all hear it, too.”

  They all sat silently, the Misses Stewart looking more and more put out as the horses shuffled. Even the groom began to look irritated.

  Finally, Sin shrugged. “Perhaps it was just wounded and is now in its den.”

  Miss Isobel said with relief, “I daresay that’s what happened.”

  The groom shot Sin a sullen look, but didn’t say anything.

  Sin’s gaze moved past the group to Rose. “One moment more.”

  He rode his horse to where she sat, and then pulled his mount between her and the rest of the group. “Miss Balfour, you’ve dropped your glove.”

  Both of her gloves were still in her hand. What is he do—

  “Allow me to get it for you,” he said loudly. As he bent down, he said in a low tone, “Hold tight!”

  She tightened her grip on the reins and frowned. What—

  He slapped her horse on the rump. “Hie!”

  The mare, all too ready for a run, bolted.

  Rose’s hat went tumbling, but she didn’t care. This was riding! She bent low, the mare’s mane whipping against her hands as the horse gathered herself into a full-out joyous gallop. She caught a flicker of something at the corner of her eye just before Sin pulled into view. Bent low over the neck of his horse, he flashed a grin.

  Rose laughed as they thundered down the path, galloping neck and neck.

  Sin’s eyes were alight under the brim of his hat, which was firmly pressed onto his head. He grinned at her and gestured to their right, indicating a barely noticeable path that led off the main trail. Rose followed without hesitation.

  This path was far narrower, with low-hanging branches and rocks protruding at unexpected places, making them slow to a trot. They turned a corner, and suddenly the river was beside them. The path widened a bit, the branches not so low.

  The mare shook her head and blew through her nose, overjoyed at the ride. Rose felt the same exhilaration.

  Sin must have also felt it, for when he glanced her way, his eyes were so bright they seemed golden. The entire moment was golden. Rose couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than here, riding down a forest path with Sin.

  Then she caught herself. He plans on seducing you, but first he must disarm you. His kindness in planning this escape is a mere ploy.

  Instantly, the fun of the day seemed to fade. As if depressed at her thoughts, the sun slid once again behind a cloud.

  She shouldn’t be disappointed. Where Sin was concerned, she had no expectations. All she wanted was to get through her three weeks at her godmother’s, secure her goodwill for her sisters, and then return to her home and horses. That was all she’d ever wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  Before she could examine her feelings more closely, Sin slowed his horse to a walk. She automatically did the same.

  “We should walk the horses for a while. I don’t want to tire them too much.”

  She nodded, trying not to get caught in her own thoughts. “I don’t hear the others. I think we gave them the slip.”

  “I hope so. When we return, we’ll tell them you allowed your reins to go slack and when I bent to retrieve your glove, your mount ran away with you.” His smile was sardonic. “It should garner you a lot of sympathy.”

  “I beg your pardon, but I never let my reins go slack. Perhaps we should tell them that you couldn’t control your mount.”

  His eyes narrowed, his smile fading. “I’m the one who came up with our escape plan.”

  “For which I’m thankful. If I’d had to listen to Munro tell me how much he’s hidden from the Crown in taxes for the last thirty years, I’d have burst into tears—”

  “I knew you were bored.”

  “—however, at no time did I ask to be rescued. I would have thought of something myself, and it wouldn’t have included me having to pretend to be a poor rider.”

  His jaw tightened. “And would your plan have included eluding our gaoler?”

  They’d stopped riding and were now sitting in the middle of the trail. “Our gaoler? You mean MacLure, the groom?”

  “Who else? My beloved great-aunt apparently decided we needed a chaperone, one on a fast enough mount that he could catch us should we flee.”

  “I wonder why she did that?” Rose said, surprised.

  “Because she somehow knew I was planning on doing this.” Sin bunched his hand in her scarf, tugged her close, and kissed her, his mouth insistent and demanding. Her heart pounded as he deepened the kiss, sending spirals of yearning through her.

  She moaned and she could hear his ragged breath in the silence of the woods. She wanted this. Wanted him.

  She leaned toward him, using her free hand to hold his arm to keep their horses even. It’s just a kiss, just a—

  His hand cupped her breast, warm and firm, his thumb finding her nipple through the layers of material.

  Instantly, every thought incinerated and turned to ash.

  All she could think about was the feel of his hand on her breast, of his hot mouth on hers, of the taste of him as he thrust his tongue between her lips, possessing her with a thoroughness that awoke her entire body. God, she wanted him to—

  She opened her eyes. What am I doing? This is exactly what he wants. She pulled away, her breath harsh in the silence as she stared at him. Yet even as she pulled away, her heart pounded with a yearning so powerful that her chest ached from it. With every breath she took, she wanted to lean back toward
him, to feel his hands on her once more, to— No!

  She didn’t realize she’d said the word aloud until she heard it ringing in the air.

  Sin was staring at her, his breathing as ragged as her own, his hand still cupped about her breast. “Rose . . . ” His voice was harsh, heated. He dropped his hand from her breast to her hip.

  For a long moment they just stared at each other.

  Rose collected herself first. “That was . . . You are an excellent kisser.”

  He let out a ragged breath. “Rose, I wasn’t—”

  “I know what you want.” She gave him a tight smile. “You warned me.”

  He frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. As he did so, his horse shifted and they moved apart. “I planned to kiss you, but I didn’t expect—”

  “Please, you were quite clear about your intentions. And, although I enjoy kissing you, my answer is still no.”

  His jaw tightened and his brows lowered. “Perhaps I was overly hasty. You can’t deny this—” He captured her elbow and leaned close to rub his cheek against hers, a faint sheen of stubble sending a tingle through her. “Come. One more kiss, and I won’t ask for another all day. I promise.”

  She closed her eyes and gripped the reins until her fingers ached. The temptation to kiss him again was so strong that it was like an actual thing, a cherry tart or a thick slice of cake. All she had to do was turn her head and it would be hers.

  It’s only one more kiss. That’s nothing.

  But that wasn’t true. He was taking her down a path where each kiss led her to more and more indiscretions.

  Suddenly, she understood true temptation: how it could look so beguiling that you believed you had to have it or you’d be lost.

  But there was one thing that was more important than getting another kiss, and that was to beat this man at his own game before he beat her. Blast him for ruining this.

  Rose opened her eyes.

  Sin felt the change in her before he saw it. What was so frustrating was that he’d allowed his eagerness to ruin his own plans. He’d had no intentions of kissing her while they were on horseback. He’d wanted a soft bed of grass by the river, or a mossy spot beneath a leafy tree. But she’d been practically glowing from their gallop, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted—and he’d forgotten everything but his desire to taste her.