A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  “I am not surprised.”

  “But I have read those books over and over. I know everything they contain.”

  “Your memory is selective.”

  She frowned. “Wait…You’ve read Spinoza?”

  “I did. Back at Whitecross. I wanted to see what your favourite book was.”

  “How did you know my favourite?”

  “It’s very easy to see. It is the one with the most wear and has the most folded pages.”

  Of course—she should have thought of that.

  “Reason is not more important than instinct and our senses, Anne. You should read The Fairy Tale of the Green Snake and Beautiful Lily.”

  Coldness settled over her. “I’ve read it. I don’t think very highly of Goethe.”

  “You should broaden your intellectual horizons, my lady.” He stood and left the cottage.

  She didn’t know whether to feel invaded or touched that he had investigated her books like that.

  * * * *

  She watched, amazed as he hauled in and heated her bathwater without blinking an eye. She couldn’t imagine her father or William ever stooping to such a menial chore. They’d practically refused to pour their own drinks.

  He’d told her not to bother with a valise. Now he presented her with a soft, thick flannel wrapper dyed a rich crimson. “The nights are promising to get cooler now.”

  “Yes.” She clutched the flannel bundle tight, suddenly shy.

  His eyes softened and he leant down and kissed her, gently and lingeringly. Then he left her alone in the cottage again.

  He returned when she’d just come from the tub and insisted on towelling her dry, as if he were Nellie. Only he wasn’t. The act seemed somehow too intimate. Having a lover was certainly more invasive than having a husband. She wasn’t sure what to think about it and she was bone tired. Therefore, she stopped thinking and gave herself up to the rhythmic motions of the towel over her skin.

  Afterwards, he carried her to the huge bed that dominated the bedchamber. It occurred to her that he’d somehow managed to have this cottage painted and furnished in a fortnight. He massaged her feet and legs with some sweet-smelling oil.

  “It’s coconut oil. I developed a partiality to it when I was in Jamaica.”

  “When were you in Jamaica?” she asked drowsily.

  “On the way to New Orleans, with my regiment.”

  “I didn’t realise you’d fought in New Orleans as well.”

  He laughed softly. “It’s not something one tends to dwell on. The Americans beat us to our knees.”

  His history fascinated her. “How many years were you in the dragoons?”

  “Thirteen years, love. I enlisted when I was seventeen.”

  “Goodness, so young.” She recalled herself at sixteen, perfectly petrified by all the staring eyes in her first season. She couldn’t imagine facing battle at just a year older.

  “My grandfather, the old earl, had cut off my allowance to force me into divinity school. I had other plans.”

  “But how could you afford the commission if he controlled your funds?”

  “His wife—my dear grandmother—provided me with a purse, to gamble on cards, and I was lucky.” He laughed, this time a hollow sound without humour. It sent chills down her spine. “You see, he had put her to no small amount of public humiliation over some comely little baronet’s wife he’d been frigging. Therefore she hit him where she could. They were unfailingly polite at the dinner table and, under the surface, constantly at war. And that, my dear, is the ugly truth of marriage—especially for those at our rank.”

  Anne hugged her pillow tighter. “My parents didn’t even communicate enough for arguments or wars. I rarely saw my father except when they trotted me out on those occasions when they wanted to show the duke as a loving father. After he lost interest in the horse farm, I saw him hardly ever at all.”

  Ruel dropped a kiss on her neck and made a sibilant sound, as if to quiet her.

  However, she couldn’t stop the flow of words. “With his guinea-gold hair and patrician handsomeness, he was quite regal. He frightened me when I was little. As I grew, I learnt not to take him seriously. Mama explained how dukes were different from the rest of humanity. How they are raised so abnormally that they cannot be expected to be able to relate to life and other people in the same way as others do. Eventually, I learnt not to think of him as anyone really connected to me.”

  He resumed massaging her back, the circular motions lulling her into silence. “It’s all in the past now, Anne. You’re wealthy, you have rank. You may live as you wish but you must learn to stand up in society. You are not to kneel to anyone—I mean anyone.”

  “I knelt to you.”

  He gripped the back of her neck. “Yes, you did and you shall again, very soon. But that’s different and you know it. You know what I mean. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow, in the morning, we start accustoming you to horses once more.”

  * * * *

  Upon rising, Anne found a chest full of simple muslin and wool dresses that buttoned down the front. Ruel had provided for all her needs for the month, all of it very practical, right down to woollen stockings and a pair of sturdy women’s leather boots.

  She delayed over breakfast, listlessly stirring the spoon in her uneaten porridge as long as possible. Finally, she could delay no longer. Jon had said she must show herself by eight. As her feet dragged on the little, worn path to the stable, her stomach twisted into knots.

  The door was already open. She entered and stood breathing in the familiar yet pungent scents. Just the odour of the horses sent her heart quickening and her palms dampening. There were five stalls, the first three empty. A large shadow moved in the fourth stall. The unmistakable lines of a horse’s head. Black as midnight.

  Ruel’s monster of a horse.

  Her throat desiccated and her heart hammered in her ears. She looked away and stepped back but her legs shook. It was a weakness she couldn’t fight and her steps faltered. She leaned against the doorway for support, putting her forehead against it and feeling the splintery roughness with her hands. There was something comforting in wood, something indescribably grounding in it.

  She became brave enough for a second look, turning her head with her cheek still pressed to the frame. Ruel was brushing a horse in the fifth stable. She just made out the chestnut coloured head when tingling sensations rushed over her scalp and her stomach lurched. She gripped the doorframe harder and looked down at her shoes. Bits of straw lay sprinkled about the dirt. Here and there shards of broken glass embedded in the soil sparkled rich green in the morning sun like priceless emeralds.

  Mama had a set of emerald earrings with a matching pendant necklace. They had been a gift from the duke for having given birth to Anne. Anne had thought them the most beautiful thing, especially since those cold, hard stones had denoted her value to the duke and the estate in real terms. That had always been a comfort. Now she focused on those gleaming fragments while she swallowed convulsively.

  She couldn’t be sick in front of him.

  Oh God, she wouldn’t be sick in front of him.

  “This is Sally.” Jon’s deep voice carried to her. “And the other horse is a gelding—his name is Jasper.”

  A gelding? She caught her breath. “I thought you had brought your stallion.”

  “You mean my warhorse?” His voice sounded rich with humour. “I sent him to my estate. I felt he would be a little more intimidating than Jasper here.” Wet, chomping sounds echoed loudly in the rafters. He must be feeding the mare an apple. “The chestnut’s name is Sally. She is a good girl, very gentle and obedient. Eventually you will ride her.”

  “Oh,” she replied, clinging to the doorway. His words sounded so unlikely, it was hard for her mind to acknowledge them. She looked away but the huge yellow ball on the horizon made her squint and she moved her eyes to the western horizon, focusing on the thick tree line of the woods.

  Her panic was ebbing to a ste
ady buzz at a base level. She’d never been able to stay this long near the stables. But then again, she’d never been with anyone else.

  She couldn’t have possibly been here with anyone but Ruel.

  “She’s your horse while we are here. As there are no servants, you’ll need to help me attend to her needs.”

  “Yes,” she said, again not fully able to visualise what he meant—perhaps not wanting even to comprehend his words. Behind her, Ruel’s boots crunched on the straw-strewn dirt floor.

  “It’s completely safe. They are well trained.” He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  She flinched. “I know.”

  “I shan’t let any harm come to you.” He caressed her shoulders. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  Unable to bear his touch at the moment, she shrugged out from under his hands. “Oh, how silly. Of course they won’t hurt me. I know that.”

  Wanting only to be gone from the stable, she walked towards the outside.

  He grasped her by the waist and pulled her back inside. “Now come here wench.”

  He turned her and pulled her close to himself.

  She looked up at him and his blue eyes were kind and warm. Then he tapped her lightly on the forehead. “Yes, you know that in your mind you know they will not hurt you, but your heart is another matter, else you wouldn’t have the fear.”

  “Yes, of course.” She felt like a fool. He had to feel her body still shaking, the dampness of her thin muslin morning dress. But at the same time she was glad he was the only other person to see her like this. She could not have borne showing this weakness to another.

  “So you’ll let me say what I will to your heart as often as I see the need. We shall get you through this. Even the worst parts. I’ll be right here, the whole time. And besides”—his lips touched her ear—“there are far more dangerous things that can befall a wench who wanders into the stables unawares.”

  She laughed despite herself. Weakly. “But I didn’t wander in here. I was conscripted.”

  “Ah, even more dangerous. The master has an eye for you.” He pressed his loins against her buttocks. He was erect and throbbing. An anticipatory thrill shot straight to her cunt, making it contract powerfully.

  “Hug that door all you want. I won’t push you. Except that, after today, you must watch me tend the horses.”

  “And that’s it?” A heavy load lifted off her heart.

  “Well, I was thinking more of a reward system. The first day you can let go of that doorframe and help me to water and feed them, I shall reward you.” There was a note in his voice that suddenly made her distrustful.

  “What kind of reward?”

  “I shall let you suck my cock.”

  For a moment she doubted her own hearing. She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that his eyes were twinkling with wickedness. “You’re jesting about that. People don’t… Surely, I mean…”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Heat flooded her face and for a moment she forgot all about the horses. “I have never even imagined such a thing.”

  He laughed softly, moving away to bend and pick up a blanket. “You had never even imagined such a thing until I mentioned it. Now you can’t wait for it to happen.”

  Dear heavens, he was correct about that.

  * * * *

  As the sun set, Anne watched, repulsed, as Jon skinned, gutted and roasted a rabbit he’d snared. Later, she tentatively chewed the meat and tried not to show her distaste. She’d never particularly cared for hare. She’d rather have fowl or beef.

  “My spoilt darling.” His tone was warm with amusement.

  “There’s not even any sauce to make it more palatable.” She eyed the thin layer of congealing fat with a jaundiced eye.

  “This is all we have, my fine lady. You’ll have to make do.” He bit into an apple, chewed and swallowed, his expression turning thoughtful. “Maybe I can manage to provide some quail for tomorrow but only if you please me tonight.”

  They had spent the whole day in each other’s company. He had patiently instructed her how to mix and bake scones, with moderate success. Then he’d taken her for a walk along by the stream towards the woods, where he’d kissed and fondled her and made improper suggestions until she’d blushed furiously and run from him, squealing like a silly girl. After they had returned to the cottage, he’d made her sit and keep him company while he, the great earl, chopped wood to cook their supper.

  She wasn’t used to spending so much time in the company of another person. Much less someone with whom she had shared so deeply of herself and who demanded her total obedience. Suddenly, she lost what little appetite she’d had, her whole body overtaken by such jitters that she jumped to her feet and paced the room. God, it was completely quiet. She looked out of the window and saw no park, no circular drive, no friendly torches burning. No servants waiting, their presence an impersonal, reassuring buffer. Just desolate night and not another soul around.

  How many times had she longed for seclusion like this? But to have with it Ruel was another thing entirely. At Whitecross Hall, all that had occurred between them had been the exchange of sensual pleasures. Even the submission she’d given him had been like a role she’d assumed. Something she could step out of in the morning and leave behind. And had.

  But last night, he’d peeled back all her defences as easily as one peels an orange and she’d babbled like a ninny, telling him all her secrets. The little, pathetic heartbreaks she’d suffered in her childhood. Truths she’d wanted to reveal to no one.

  It had felt so safe to share them and she’d felt a connection to him like she’d never known with anyone. It had been a feeling like joy but far more addictive, she knew. Connection. The one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. If she became addicted to the connection with this man, it would be handing him the means to destroy her.

  Her throat went completely dry. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t.

  His chair scraped on the floorboards and his boots sounded unnaturally loud. She saw his reflection in the window. Please him tonight? No, she should plead tiredness. Because if he touched her… If he touched her… She’d open up again, opening up more and more each time until she’d let him all the way in.

  He laid his hands on her shoulders. She sank down, intending to slip out of his reach. He tightened his grip and pressed her to his hard stomach. Immediately, her heart rate and breathing quickened. Heat rushed into her pelvis, dropping lower to throb in her sex. Her faithless body…

  “Nan, refusal of my advances is allowed. Asking for time alone is allowed. Closing off and turning your back to me is not, no matter how uncomfortable you find your own feelings.” He spoke gently, lulling her, making her want to turn to him and allow him to take her into his arms.

  She clamped down the feeling. “I am not closing off.”

  “That’s a lie and we both know it. If you’re not feeling amorous, then simply say so. But I don’t like guessing games.”

  She tried to shrug out of his grasp but again he held her firm.

  “You were so sweetly submissive to me on the night I left Whitecross Hall. We shared an excellent time. The memory haunted me every moment I was away from you.” He caressed her shoulders. “What has changed?”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  He released her. “Go to bed.”

  At the sudden coldness in his tone, alarm tingled over her and she turned. “But I am not ready to go to bed.”

  “You may read, but there are only two chambers here and I wish to have to time to myself without having to deal with your everlasting prickliness.”

  “Wait—you’re sending me to bed like some child?”

  “Act like a child and expect to be treated as a child. Next time, ask me outright for time alone.”

  She choked against the sudden burning in her throat. After his tenderness and open warmth of yesterday and most of today, his change shocked her. Made her wish the
re was some way to take back her thoughtless actions and words. But the stern look on his face set her heart thudding against her ribs. He looked thoroughly implacable.

  She might have argued and fought him over this. But why? Why force herself on someone who clearly didn’t want her company? And she couldn’t argue with him. She had been prickly. She couldn’t help but disappoint people; push them away from her. It was simply who she was. Cold. Distant. Just like the duke.

  Coming here, planning on being alone with him—it had all been a mistake. In the morning, she would tell him so and ask that he make arrangements for her to go back to Whitecross Hall at once. She folded her arms over her chest and stalked away to the bedchamber.

  * * * *

  Anne awoke. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the plain, whitewashed walls. The few items of furniture were dark walnut, heavy pieces of another era. She startled for a moment to find herself in such unfamiliar surroundings. She was at the cottage. And she wasn’t alone. Ruel was lying next to her.

  Last night, he’d slept on the settee in the other chamber. Of course he had—he’d been the soul of consideration yesterday. And she’d responded with coolness. Now he was angry with her, something he had every right to be.

  She found herself disconcerted. After their wedding journey had been completed, William had limited his visits to duty to sire an heir and left immediately afterwards. It hurt her to admit, but she’d vastly preferred that. Sharing a bed seemed overwhelmingly intimate.

  Self-preservation urged her to close her eyes and pretend that everything was normal. Emotionally safe. That she was alone. However, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his sleeping face.

  For two weeks, she had lain in her bed, longing for him. Now he lay next to her and she felt as distant from him as she had then. Maybe more so.

  His face looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen it. His cheeks were covered with stubble, the chocolate colour so much darker than his ash blond hair. She reached out and touched his cheek, brushing her fingers lightly over the roughness.