"You're a...a girl!"
Nicholas stumbled back a step. With the mud cleansed away, he discovered that this was no boy, but a young woman, closer to twenty years of age than ten. A stunning young woman. Below her gracefully arched brows were thick, black lashes, spiked with droplets of water, drawing attention to exquisite amethyst eyes. Her skin, a creamy peach without blemish, made his fingers itch to caress the silky texture. And her lips were...
He frowned, noticing her trembling, blue-tinged lips. Then he realized her entire body was trembling.
"Take your clothes off,” he ordered, then gritted his teeth against the visions those words evoked. His eyes moved down the pale column of her throat, settling on the generous mounds quivering from the cold. He couldn't ignore what was plainly visible beneath the soaked white shirt plastered against her chest. Definitely closer to twenty than ten.
"I beg your p-pardon?” she gasped after a lengthy pause, anger building on her face.
No way in bloody hell was he going to repeat those words. He turned to his horse. “You will catch your death if you aren't warm and dry soon."
"And wh-whose fault w-would that b-be?"
Nicholas sighed and turned back. It took a great deal of strength to keep his eyes from straying down. “Do not place the blame upon my shoulders, lady,” he said, tapping his chest with his fingertips. “You should have answered my questions."
"Well you d-didn't have to th-throw m-m-me into the s-stream.” Sarcasm laced her words, even through chattering teeth.
He swung around. “Nor did I have to dive in and rescue you,” he said over his shoulder, then hurried to his horse. Why the hell hadn't he realized she was a girl?
"W-What are you d-doing?"
"I have a spare set of garments,” he explained without bothering to glance at the brazen little temptress. He rummaged through his saddlebag.
"I'll n-not take them."
Stifling a groan, Nicholas turned and folded his arms over his chest. “You must get warm and dry.” He also needed her covered. Fast. Seeing her breasts in such a revealing way made him crazed.
"S-So must y-you.” That unselfish response surprised him. Then he noticed the water droplets dripping from the ends of his hair, and the chill sinking deep into his skin. “I h-have a b-blanket,” she added and nodded toward the other horse.
Nicholas recalled his mission of finding his lost stallion. The saddle. Why hadn't he paid any attention to that earlier? He shuffled closer and found that it didn't belong to him. Although crafted of the finest materials, obviously the saddle of a very wealthy gentleman, it wasn't his. For the first time, doubt crept up on him. He removed the blanket and turned to the beauty shivering on the grass several yards away. She looked helpless and fragile. Could she really be a horse thief?
With the thick wool in his hands, feeling like a foolish dunderhead, Nicholas approached her. She needed to get warm; his questions could wait.
Kneeling before her, he unfolded the blanket and spread it across her trembling shoulders. She lifted a thankful gaze and favored him with a smile. God's breath, she was stunning. A fresh scent of jasmine rose up from her damp hair to tease his senses. He went still. Transfixed. A man under a spell. The desire flared within him to kiss her and heat her cold lips until they turned hot and pink. Nicholas could not escape the temptation.
Megan had been shivering so long and hard, her stomach muscles began to cramp. And she could feel her wet hair growing stiff. So when the duke spread the blanket over her shoulders, bringing a bit of relief from the cold, she smiled. As she watched his eyes grow dark and heavy-lidded, however, her smile dissolved. He lowered his head, and her breath lodged in her throat. She sat frozen, startled to realize he meant to kiss her, and unable to move away.
When his lips settled over hers, sweet, sweet warmth flowed into her, expelling the brutal cold. Her pulse roared in her ears, eclipsing all sound, and her insides melted down to her toes. How many times in the gallery at Claremont had she dreamed of his kiss? A hundred? A thousand?
His tongue brushed against her lips and Megan gasped, stunned by the lightning-bolt sensation. As he swept the interior of her mouth with his velvety probe, pleasure cascaded in waves throughout her body.
She heard him moan at the same time his arms came around her. He pulled her to him, his coat grazing the firm, sensitive peaks under her thin shirt and chemise. Never had anything felt so exquisite. His hold tightened around her, his tongue delved deeper, and she was lost in the intimacy of her first kiss.
When the duke lifted his mouth from hers, disappointment jabbed her in the stomach. If her bones hadn't turned to jelly, she would have pulled him back to her.
"Tell me your name,” he said, his breath a warm caress against her lips.
As she formed the sound of her name, Megan wrenched her eyes open, realizing what she was about to reveal. What was she doing with this man? Nicholas Bradshaw, the Duke of Claremont, her brother's enemy. She shouldn't be here with him...in the forest...alone...attired most inappropriately...kissing him!
Dear God, this man had the power to ruin her. With just a few details of what had happened today, she would be ostracized from society. Completely and forever.
Her parents would be devastated.
She shot to her feet, the blanket pooling to the ground. “I must go.” The duke's gaze lowered from her face and settled at a spot below her neck. She glanced down and gasped, wrapping her arms around her body. Oh, good Lord! She had no idea how revealing a wet white shirt could be. If she didn't leave this second, she would die of mortification. “I must go."
"You are not going anywhere."
She gasped. “You, sir, have no—"
"The horse,” he nodded to where Titan was nipping at some grass. “Where did you get him?” His voice sounded funny, a little raspy.
She was about to tell the blasted man the truth when she recalled one important detail. The Duke of Claremont was no friend of Julian's. “The horse does not belong to you."
He cocked a brow. “He looks just like the one stolen from my stables earlier."
She shook. From anger. From the cold. Mostly from anger. He was never this mulish in her daydreams. “Your Grace, I assure you, this horse does not belong to you.” She tried to keep from sounding cross, but found it difficult with a clenched jaw.
"Then who does it belong to?” He folded his arms, that damn brow rising even higher.
"This is absurd.” She shook her head and stepped in Titan's direction.
The duke blocked her path. “You are not going anywhere, lady."
Megan found the heat of his body surprisingly alluring. She had the strange urge to move into his arms. How ridiculous. He had just pitched her into the stream. And then kissed her!
He lifted his hand and grazed her cheek with his fingertips. That strange expression once again crossed his face. His words stopped her from batting his hand away. “You are so beautiful."
Tears threatened. Blasted, silly tears. Megan had waited so long to hear those words. So are you, she wanted to say. Almost said. But her throat clogged as memories and feelings swirled within her. Memories of standing before his portrait at Claremont and pretending to hear those words from him. Of her smiling and batting her eyelashes, playing the coy debutante. Of him professing his love and proposing marriage in a single breath. For years, she had envisioned the scenes in her head. Although it had been months since she last visited his portrait, she could recall every detail. She lifted her gaze to his. The same shade of blue. Then they grew dark and heavy-lidded. He started to lower his head. He meant to kiss her. Again!
A thought wheedled to the surface. Her brother hated this man. She could not be caught with him! Using every ounce of strength she possessed, Megan ran to Titan. Paying no heed to the duke shouting for her to return, she raced from the meadow. Escaping him would be easy this time. But not the next. Not when she was about to be launched into society.
Dear God, how would she escape
ruination?
Nicholas watched her go, her taste still on his lips. Even fifteen rounds at Gentleman Jackson's had never left him so disoriented. When he pulled her out of the stream and found her to be female, he'd been speechless. Her wet clothes clung to her body, revealing curves that would drive a saint mad with want. Other than pure lust, he hadn't the faintest idea what made him kiss her. And what a kiss. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. She tasted like strawberries.
He ran to his horse. He would find her. Mad, yes. Crazy, definitely. Insane, probably. But something compelled him to go after her. He jumped on his horse and it sprang forward.
She had disappeared in the thicket of trees opposite the main road, and after an hour of searching, he decided to return to his estate. His hands tightened on the reins and he gnashed his teeth together. How the deuce she had managed to escape him, he would never know. She must be an accomplished rider to have out-maneuvered him. But that just brought about more questions. With one last sweep of his surroundings, he turned his horse around. He intended to have some answers.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER 2
Nicholas halted his horse before the red brick townhouse in Bond Street, London, and sighed in resignation. He prayed that after calling here on his mistress Angela, he'd forget the mystery woman's stunning violet eyes.
At least he knew of a certainty she wasn't a horse thief. On his way back to Claremont, he'd found his missing stallion munching on some winter grass. He felt like such an ass. If he could just find her and apologize...
The searing kiss they shared forced its way into his mind. He could still feel her breasts pressed against his chest, could still taste her honeyed lips as his mouth settled over hers. He groaned and mopped a hand down his face. Why was it so difficult to forget the bloody little chit? And why couldn't he find her?
Shaking his head, he marched up the steps. The housekeeper greeted him at the door and informed him that Angela was in the garden having tea. He walked through the elegant house and spotted the voluptuous redhead sipping out of a dainty teacup.
She beamed when she noticed him. Her green eyes lit up. “Nicky! You're finally back. How was the country? Dreadfully boring, I'm sure,” she replied before giving him the opportunity to answer.
"Hello, Angela.” Nicholas sank into the chair opposite her. Angela didn't affect him like she usually did. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with two fingers. That beauty sitting upon a tuft of brown grass, shivering and looking entirely too tempting filled his mind. He remembered how her eyes had grown soft and dazed when he kissed her, and how silky her skin felt against his fingertips. Damn! Why couldn't he get the nymph out of his mind? And why did he feel so desperate to see her again?
A loud crash sounded. He jolted upright and focused on fiery green eyes, set in a beet-red face with pinched lips that dipped down at the corners. Angela's teacup, saucer and teapot lay in a thousand shards of milky glass at his feet. “Are you finally back, Your Grace, or are you still up in the clouds with the birds?” she screeched at him.
With a long glare, Nicholas conveyed a silent reminder that he did not put up with such impertinence. “What were you saying?” he asked.
She swallowed and looked down. “I-I'm sorry, Nicky. Would you like some tea?"
He stared at the smashed pot and shook his head. “I think not.” Watching her sullen expression for a few moments, he groaned inwardly. He would require Angela to achieve a much better mood in order to drive the chit from his mind. “You look lovely. Is that a new gown?"
She brightened. “Why yes, it is,” she purred, pushing her bosom further out from her gown's low-cut bust line. She stood and sauntered to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let's go upstairs, Nicky, and I'll show you the other goodies you purchased for me. Then I'll thoroughly thank you for each and every one,” she added, rubbing her bottom over his groin.
Closing his eyes, not at all surprised when that violet-eyed nymph appeared, he nearly growled in frustration as he scooped his mistress into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Once in the bedroom, he brought his lips down onto Angela's. All thoughts of that razor-tongued temptress had to be exorcised from his mind. But the longer he kept his eyes closed, the stronger his memory of her became. Blurred details sharpened into vivid splendor and fantasy became reality. It wasn't Angela's soft lips he devoured, but hers. “Tell me your name,” he whispered and opened his eyes. Seeing Angela, he frowned, his body going soft.
Fury sprang into her eyes, and he knew she had felt his response. He rolled off the bed and began to straighten his clothes. He really had been bewitched. What in hell would he do now?
"Who is she?” Angela demanded. “The one you thought you were with?"
"That's none of your concern,” he snarled, turning to the door.
"Have it your way, Nicholas. I'm leaving."
He nodded without breaking his stride and left.
A few days later, Megan flew into the house, knowing she had little time to change out of her riding habit. Her parents expected her for tea at precisely four o'clock. She turned to the gigantic clock in the hall and made a face. Six blasted minutes!
Spinning toward the stairs, she prepared to bolt up to her bedchamber when she noticed the dowager Duchess of Claremont exiting the drawing room. Something in the lady's expression halted Megan. Worry. Had something happened to her son?
The thought made Megan's heart lurch. Nicholas! She pressed a hand to her chest and began in the lady's direction. “Has something happened, Your Grace?"
"Come, dear,” she insisted, linking arms with Megan, “we have something to discuss."
Nervous, Megan walked into the drawing room. She glanced around the empty chamber and frowned. “Where are my parents?"
The dowager patted her hand. “That is one of the things I wished to discuss with you, my dear.” She turned to the sofa. “Here, let us have a seat."
Her uneasiness grew, but she refrained from asking the thousand questions swirling around in her head until tea was served. She took the cup and sipped, not at all tasting the contents. “Where are my parents, Your Grace?” she asked again.
The cup in the dowager's hand trembled before she lowered it to the table. “I received a note just before they departed from the estate this morning."
"Departed? Where did they go? And why?"
The dowager duchess hesitated. “London, though I have no idea why."
"The note didn't say?"
The dowager moved her head from side to side, her perfectly arranged twist glistening silvery-gold in the nearby window's light. “No.” She pulled out a piece of ivory vellum from her drawstring purse and held it out. “I received this from your parents this morning."
Megan took the note and began to read.
Dearest Genny,
A most important matter has arisen and calls for our immediate attention. There is no time to explain now. Expect another note with more details once we arrive in London. While we are away, please take care of Megan. Knowing our daughter is in your care will ease our troubled hearts.
Respectfully,
Joseph and Margaret
The Duke and Duchess of Kenbrook
Lifting her head, Megan asked, “What important matter, Your Grace?"
"Mrs. Finch told me that your parents received an urgent missive just after the morning meal and departed soon after, though she had no idea what the missive stated. I hoped you knew."
Megan shook her head, regret for once again sneaking away to ride lying heavy in her bosom. “I'm afraid I have no knowledge of it, Your Grace.” She dropped her gaze back to the note in her hands. What terrible thing had occurred to make her parents rush off to London? Had something happened to one of their friends?
A knock sounded, pulling her from her thoughts, and she turned as the dowager invited the caller to enter.
The head housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, rushed inside. “My lady, Your Grace, pardon me, but there
is a man to see Lady Megan. He says it's very important, something about a burned carriage,” she explained, wringing her hands together.
Megan gasped.
A moment's pause. “Send him in,” the dowager whispered, rising from the sofa.
With her legs turned to jelly, Megan struggled to her feet. That burned carriage was not a Kenbrook carriage. It was not. It was not.
An old man, garbed in soiled, threadbare clothing, shuffled into the room. His eyes darted around as he neared. “G'day, ladies, sorry ter be bargin’ in on ye. Name's Grover."
"Do you have important news about a carriage?” the dowager prompted, her voice a little stronger. Megan's throat clogged with fear.
He nodded. “Yes, well, I seen smoke ‘bout five miles back. An’ off the road, there be a carriage afire. But I got a real good look at the crest on the door."
"Are you saying the door held this emblem?” the dowager asked, pointing her collapsed fan to the spot above the room's fireplace.
Grover's rheumy eyes grew round as they focused on the solid gold shield of the Kenbrook crest. It contained thousands of precious stones that formed a large cross with a griffin on either side. He wouldn't stop staring at the priceless shield and the dowager had to clear her throat several times before the man looked back at her. She repeated the question twice more before he responded.
Panic tore a fiery path through Megan's insides. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She pressed them together and kept trying to convince herself that the burned carriage did not belong to her parents. But they were missing. She swallowed back a sob. Please. Please let her parents be all right.
"Yes'm, that be it,” he confirmed with a nod, then swung his stunned gaze back to the glittering buckler.
Innocence Lost Page 2
