Wicked

by Amy Sandas

  But it had all been just a warning. An example of why she should stay away.

  Focusing her gaze again, Haylie scanned along the distant forest line for the horse and rider but they were gone.

  A sudden, forceful gust swept up from below, catching her bonnet and sending it flying off on the wind. Haylie barely managed to clutch tight to her woolen shawl or that too would have been claimed by the chilling sweep of air.

  With a frown, she watched her bonnet dance on the wind until it finally dropped into the long grass a significant distance from the ruins. She’d have to go fetch it.

  With a sigh, she turned to make her way back to the walkway, only to find that the others had already left. Had she been lost in her thoughts for that long? Her steps quickened as the wind pushed heavily against her shoulders, whipping her skirts, lifting loose strands of hair, and causing goose bumps to rise on her skin.

  When she turned the corner to descend the stairs, her heart gave a frightened little leap. There was no one there. Not even the footmen.

  The stepladder that had been placed to span the breach in the stairs was also gone.

  With her heart rising to clog her throat, Haylie gazed outward. She tried to see down the hill to where the picnic had been set up, but she could not see around the half-standing walls and tumbling piles of stone bricks and boulders. Surely, they had not left the area altogether?

  Clutching her shawl in tight fists—trying desperately not to panic—she called out.

  The increasingly chaotic wind grabbed her voice as soon as it left her mouth, sending it circles around her before a fresh gust dispersed it into nothing.

  The footmen would have to remember that they’d helped her to the upper level. Someone would come back for her, surely.

  She called again. And again. And again.

  No one came.

  Turning, she rushed back up to the walkway, scanning the landscape in all directions. There was no one. What she could see of the hollow where blankets and hampers had been laid out appeared empty and deserted. The countryside was devoid of people in every direction she gazed.

  She was utterly alone.

  Haylie took a breath. She was alone, but she wasn’t entirely incompetent. Surely, she could figure a way out of this mess.

  Returning to the stairs, she carefully made her way down as far as she could, noting just how worn and crumbling and narrow the steps were in places. One poorly placed step and she could lose her footing to a disastrous result.

  Reaching the spot where the steps had fallen away, she edged closer, keeping one hand on the stone wall at her side. The gap didn’t seem so far from this perspective. With enough momentum, it might be possible to make such a leap. Of course, the loose stones and damp moss that covered the steps on the other side could make for a perilous landing. If she made the jump but then lost her footing and hit her head or tumbled to the side, she could be seriously injured. And with no one about to assist her, it was a mighty risk to take.

  She took a step back.

  If she just stayed where she was and waited, how long would she be stranded there?

  How long before anyone noticed her absence? An hour? Two? Could she be left there overnight?

  Haylie shook her head. She had no choice.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Chapter Five

  Haylie gave a start at the harshly shouted words a split second before relief flooded her body in a wave.

  Looking down with wide, disbelieving eyes, she saw the Marquess of Granville atop a pure black horse, boldly charging toward her through the ruins. Of course, he was the man she’d seen riding so fearlessly across the countryside. “My lord,” she exclaimed, “I thought you’d left Northamptonshire this morning.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t,” he noted sharply.

  He cut a dramatic picture in grey riding breeches and a coat the color of charcoal, but Granville’s gaze was darkly furious.

  Haylie’s heart raced and this time it had nothing to do with her precarious situation. “How did you know I was here?” she asked as the marquess brought his horse even with the stairs.

  “I was heading back from my ride and thought I caught sight of some wild creature atop the wall.” Something flickered beneath the surface of his sardonic expression. “I should have known it would be you.”

  Embarrassment flared beneath her skin. He certainly did seem to have a knack for appearing at her most humiliating moments.

  “Care to explain how the hell you’ve come to be hovering over that chasm in the stairs?”

  Refusing to glance at the drop he so bluntly reminded her of, Haylie met his harsh gaze and offered a tremulous smile. “I seem to be stranded.”

  His brows lowered, deepening the two lines that ran vertically between them. “Yes, I see that. How did you get up there in the first place? Ruins are a dangerous place to explore alone.”

  Briefly closing her eyes, Haylie gathered the tatters of her pride. “I wasn’t alone. The others apparently left without me.”

  At her embarrassing confession, the leather of his gloves creaked softly as his hands fisted on the reins. Then he gave a nudge of his heels, urging his horse closer to the uneven rise of steps. Reaching up with both hands, he said simply, “Come on. I’ll help you down.”

  Haylie looked at him. His hands barely reached to her knees. “It’s rather high,” she said skeptically.

  “Sit on the lowest step. I’ll be able to reach you better.”

  Haylie did as he instructed, bringing herself to the very edge of the lowest step before she turned toward him with her legs dangling over the drop and her hands pressed flat to the rough stone. Though she felt a great deal safer due to the basic fact of his presence, there was still quite a drop from where she sat to his arms and a much longer fall to the ground if he failed to catch her.

  “I won’t let you fall,” he said in a confident tone as he pressed his hands to the outsides of her knees. Then he stood up in the stirrups and slid his hands up to grasp her hips. “Come to me.”

  With a small sound in the back of her throat, Haylie leaned forward and practically tumbled into Granville’s arms, landing with a jolt in his lap. His thighs flexed with hard muscle beneath her and his arms were like steel bands holding her secure as he hauled her in against his chest. The contact was intimate and so very different from the waltz the night before, but no less thrilling.

  With a press of his knees, he directed his horse away from the stairs to a pile of stone and rubble. Adjusting his hold on her, he lowered her to the ground and then swung down from his saddle after her. Still feeling a slight unsteadiness in her limbs, Haylie clutched briefly to his forearms. The marquess stiffened under her hands and she muttered an apology before letting him go.

  Without a word, he turned to stride purposefully to the main entrance of the ruins, where he looked out over the path that had brought her up the side of the hill not too long ago.

  Haylie already knew what he’d see.

  Nothing.

  Or rather, no one.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she muttered as she took a seat on one of the larger stones, “for coming to my aid.”

  The marquess glanced over his shoulder and the fury in his gaze was almost startling. “I suppose this has taught you nothing,” he noted sharply.

  Haylie frowned. A few pebbles had gotten into her walking boot during the scoot along the edge of the steps. She lifted her foot and started to loosen her laces, using the task as a distraction from his intense manner. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Those people are not the paragons you think they are.”

  She looked up at him, confused by the layer of vehemence in his tone. “You make it sound as if they’d left me on purpose.” Haylie slipped her boot off and upended it to shake out the loose stones. “It was my fault, really. I’d wandered out of sight. I’m sure they’d just...forgotten I was there.”

  How pathetic.

  Sho
ving her foot back into the boot, she gave a rough little laugh. “Apparently, unless I’m falling face first into the buffet table, I’m just not that memorable.”

  Haylie tugged at the laces to tighten her boot, but one side was caught. With a firm press of her lips, she tugged harder. And then the marquess was crouching down in front of her, brushing her hands aside.

  “You’re more memorable than most, I assure you,” he noted as he placed her foot on his knee and took hold of the knotted laces.

  Haylie wanted to believe he meant the words as a compliment—that somehow, he had recognized that she was not the lost cause everyone believed her to be. But she did not possess the assurance to convince herself of something so unlikely.

  Her tone was rueful as she replied, “Because I’m such a nuisance, I suppose?”

  Thick, dark brows furrowed and his hands stilled as he looked up at her. It appeared he intended to say something, but then his gaze dropped to her lips and he remained silent.

  Haylie waited breathlessly, wondering what he was thinking as his focus moved slowly down the line of her throat to the hollow of her collarbone. She noted in fascination how his eyebrows curled toward the center when he frowned. For some reason, noticing that small detail unsettled her.

  He looked up again and his dark eyes flickered with dangerous secrets she didn’t quite understand. “No, Miss Dellacourt. You are determined and relentlessly hopeful, but you are not a nuisance.” The muscles of his jaw bunched and released. “They will ruin you if they get the chance. Do not allow it.”

  His penetrating gaze caused a tightening in her core while his private tone made her wonder if he were warning her away from the ton or himself. An odd lightness infused her chest as her fingers and toes began to tingle. She suddenly became acutely aware of his masculine virility as every breathless whisper she’d ever overheard about his sexual pursuits flew through her mind.

  Then in a swift and fluid move, he rose to his feet and turned to walk purposefully to his horse. Gathering his horse’s reins, he noted sharply. “I’ll escort you back to the manor.”

  Haylie’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh. It took a bit to shake off the trembling in her limbs and force herself to her feet as well. “That’s quite all right. I can make my way back alone.”

  He tossed her a dark look. “I said I’ll take you.” His tone did not allow room for argument. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there is a storm bearing down upon us.”

  “A storm?” Haylie glanced upward at the thick gathering clouds. She hadn’t noticed the shift in weather at all—likely due to her distraction in thinking about the marquess and then his opportune appearance—but it certainly explained the rather swift departure of the others. Knowing they were likely concerned with outrunning a storm made their abandonment a little more palatable.

  “I’d rather not return to the manor soaked to the skin, and the longer you deliberate, the more likely that becomes. Will you ride back with me or must we find shelter?”

  A low rumble of thunder punctuated his words as a gust of wind swirled through the ruins.

  “I wouldn’t want to burden your horse.”

  “The horse will be fine,” he stated as he leapt easily into the saddle, then held out his hand. “Come on.”

  The way he looked at her—all dark and brooding with a frown of impatience that could be mistaken for concern if Haylie didn’t know better—gave her a thrill. The man was an enigmatic force unlike any she had encountered before. His bold, unrepentant manner knocked her off-kilter and his intent gaze made her wish she were bolder, braver. More reckless.

  “Take my hand and step onto that stone,” he instructed in that dominating way he had. “I’ll lift you from there.”

  Haylie glanced down at her full form. “I don’t think...”

  “Just do it,” he interrupted, his voice taking on a deeper note of command that seemed to reverberate through her swiftly chilling bones.

  Sliding her fingers into his gloved hand, she stepped onto the large, flat-topped stone. At the same time, the marquess urged his mount forward and swept his arm around her waist. In the span of a single breath, she was placed securely on his lap.

  At the feel of his strong legs beneath her thighs, his solid chest at her side, and his hand still pressed firmly to her stomach to steady her, Haylie’s body flooded with warmth. She tilted her head to look at him, noting the heavy pulse at the side of his throat and the faint shadow of an afternoon beard along his hard jaw. She had the oddest desire to press her lips to the spot where his jaw curved beneath his ear.

  She almost giggled as she imagined Granville’s shock if she were to do something so forward.

  Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be shocked at all.

  The marquess directed his horse through the ruins to the path down the hill. “Hold on to me, Miss Dellacourt,” he said as another roar of thunder released from the clouds overhead. “We’ll have to ride swiftly to escape the downpour.”

  Turning into his chest, Haylie slid her arm around his back just as he urged the horse into a full gallop. They rode headlong into the forest. With anyone else, Haylie would have been terrified of crashing into a tree, but the marquess maneuvered the twisting path with ease despite their swift pace.

  He held the reins in one hand as his other arm remained tight around her, his hand curved firmly over her hip, keeping her close against him.

  Though no one would ever mistake the marquess for a chivalrous knight of old, he had come to her rescue twice now. Haylie shuddered to think what she would have done if she’d been left atop the ruins when the storm hit. Alone.

  The marquess made a low sound and lowered his head beside hers. She felt the movement of his lips at her temple as he said, “I’ve got you, pet.”

  His voice was rich with texture and the rough velvet quality caused a delicate tremor to roll through her. She knew he was referencing the reckless nature of the ride, but she suddenly wished he meant more.

  Chapter Six

  The first few drops of rain began to fall as they raced over the rolling moors. But the full deluge didn’t hit until they had the manor in sight.

  As the sky opened and rain poured down, Miss Dellacourt curled against his chest and tucked her face into his neck. Her gown was a soaked and sodden mess over her legs and the shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders did nothing to shield her from the wind.

  Roman tried to keep her close to his warmth, but by the time they reached the gravel lane that swept past the front of the manor and continued around to the stables in back, she was chilled and wracked with tremors. He rode straight into the stables, not bothering to slow until they were well out of the rain.

  A stable lad rushed forward and Roman tossed him the reins before shifting his hold on the woman in his arms. “I’m going to lower you to the ground,” he said roughly.

  She gave a soft whimper as he eased her from his lap to set her on her feet.

  Dismounting quickly after her, Roman shrugged free of his woolen coat. It was warm from his body and still somewhat dry inside and he draped it around her stiff and trembling form. She curled her fingers into the material, drawing it close under her chin. Her hair was a bedraggled mess, dripping and heavy around her face, but she tipped her head back to give him a quick little smile.

  “Thank you.” Her lips tilted down at one corner. “I imagine you’re quite annoyed with me for getting you caught in the rain, but I appreciate your gallant rescue.”

  “Don’t,” Roman said, surprising himself by the gruff nature of his voice. “I’m not annoyed and I sure as hell am not gallant. You never should have been stranded on that wall in the first place.”

  She cocked her head and gave him a steady stare. “Why do you hate them all so much?”

  “I don’t care enough about them to hate them.” He lifted his brow. “Why do you adore them so much?”

  Her lashes—wet and spiked from the rain—dropped briefly over her gaze before her eyes found hi
s again. “I don’t adore them. I’m just...”

  Lonely.

  Roman heard the word though the girl was too proud to admit it. He lowered his voice. “I’ll say it again, pet. They’re not worth your efforts.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re a callous, selfish, faithless bunch, focused solely on their own pleasures.”

  “Much the same has been said about you, my lord.”

  “It’s true,” he noted darkly. “I’m the worst of them.”

  “And yet you’ve come to my rescue twice.”

  He frowned at the soft tone in her voice. “It won’t happen again.”

  She smiled at his warning, which only made him more determined to convince her. “Do not place me in the role of hero, Miss Dellacourt. I am far from it.”

  Still, she didn’t appear put off as she simply lifted her brows. “Unfortunately, your actions tend to belie such repeated declarations, my lord.”

  The teasing tone in her voice and knowing glint in her eye twisted something inside him. She thought she knew him. She thought she was safe with him as if he were no more harmless than her simpering Lord Westcott.

  She had no idea how wrong she was.

  The tension that had grown inside him during their ride, the physical hunger that spiked in his blood with every bounce of her backside on his groin and every press of her full breasts to his chest reached their capacity. Fire burned beneath his skin.

  His hands almost shook with the desire to grasp her shoulders and pull her into him so she could feel every inch of hardness that ached because of her. Maybe that would finally convince her what he was capable of.

  He took a step toward her, his gaze locked on her damp, fresh face. “You want action, pet?”