To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Especially as she was determined to take control of this confrontation. “You let Boudicca out.”

  Pendleton leaned one shoulder against the opposite wall, and crossed one ankle over the other. “Did I now?”

  Snowley shifted his glance from one to the other. “What’s this about?”

  “Boudicca escaped last night. The timing was nothing if not fortuitous. Unless you wish to term it suspect. She’s in season, you see. And now Mr. Pendleton is accusing her of injuring his stallion.”

  Snowley clapped his hands over his ears. A wash of pink worthy of a green girl fresh from her bow to the queen colored his cheeks. “I don’t think you ought to discuss this.”

  “I fully intend to discuss this matter with Mr. Pendleton, since he’s the likely culprit behind Boudicca’s escape.”

  One side of Pendleton’s mouth tipped upward. “I won’t deny arranging the matter, no.”

  If Caro had been in any condition to do so, she’d have strode across to Pendleton, the better to poke him in the chest. “So if your stallion was injured, the fault lies entirely with you, going about things the way you did.”

  “You left me with little choice, since you refused my offers to undertake a proper breeding. At any rate, you now owe me retribution.”

  Of course she did. Hadn’t that been his claim all along? “Yes, yes, you’ll want the foal. Though you’re assuming there will be one.”

  Pendleton shrugged. “I can arrange for another encounter on your terms. Or mine.”

  “If you’re willing to risk your stallion on another unsupervised encounter, you cannot be too upset. Nor can the injury be serious.”

  He pushed himself away from the wall. “Do not discount the influence I hold with Sir Bellingham.”

  She let out her breath in a huff. “I suppose you were trying to interfere with my plans for the hunt, as well, digging holes in the woods, making the terrain dangerous?”

  He went rigid. “The terrain is dangerous?”

  Damnation. Whatever machinations he’d indulged in, the holes in the woods were not a part of them. She’d heard the surprise in his voice. And now she’d gone and handed him another trump card if he wished her cooperation. “My estate agent is looking into the matter. I can assure you the situation will be corrected before the hunt arrives.”

  “By all means, see that you do.” He took a step toward the staircase. “It would be a terrible pity if you couldn’t hold your hunting party, after all.”

  His Hessians clicked on the parquet as he headed for the front door. Snowley followed to see him out.

  At last the echo died, but inside, Caro seethed. Pendleton was nothing if not persistent. One might even term him single-minded in his bullheadedness. He wouldn’t stop there, and that meant she was going to have to set a guard on Boudicca.

  Damn her injury. If not for her ankle, she’d have seen to the matter herself.

  Farther along the corridor, Sadie’s face appeared in the doorway. “Everything as it should be, me lady?”

  “Yes, Sadie, of course.” One hand on the wall, she shuffled over. “Did Pendleton…Did he…”

  “Did he hurt me? No, I can take care of meself if I needs to. Had lots of practice, I have.”

  Caro let out a breath. She had one less ill to lay at Pendleton’s feet, at least. That only left a few hundred. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “If ye don’t cotton to a man’s attentions, ye make sure he don’t corner you. And ye know where to shove yer knee. Do ye know that?”

  Caro nodded. Thank goodness Snowley had followed Pendleton downstairs. Her cousin would probably swoon over their topic of conversation. “Yes, I do.”

  “That’s good.” A pause. “I just wondered who he did get to, me lady.”

  A chill coursed down Caro’s spine. “What do you mean?”

  “He clearly got to some poor soul a while back. That boy ye got me carin’ for—he looks just like him.”

  —

  Adrian reined up in the stable yard. A late-afternoon breeze blew a few wisps of straw across the packed earth. He dragged a forearm across his face, wiping off the sheen of sweat. Before the day was out, he would need another bath.

  After tracking down the tenant boy who had delivered the message to the manor last night, he’d spent the better part of the afternoon in the woods, searching out and filling in holes. Gem and the other stable lads had helped him for part of that time, sweeping aside piles of old leaves in their quest for hidden obstacles. When they found one, they’d set their hands to a shovel and filled in the depressions.

  Tedious but necessary work. With any luck, the woods were safe for horse and rider alike.

  The boys scattered to catch up on their neglected duties, hurrying to the well with buckets or to the hayloft with pitchforks, to water and feed their charges. Adrian swung to the ground and led his mount into the stables. He removed saddle and bridle before letting one of the lads take the beast to its stall. Then, shouldering his burdens, he strode toward the tack room. Perhaps he could get away with a quick wash in the dusty shade of the space that housed saddles on their wooden supports, the bridles lined up neatly on pegs.

  Same as yesterday.

  On the threshold he pulled up short. “Good Lord.” He stopped himself before he could add What the hell are you doing?

  In the middle of the floor, in the space the tub had occupied the previous day, now stood an ornately carved sofa, upholstered in a pattern of red cabbage roses and greenery scattered over a white background. Her ankle propped on a silk cushion, Lady Caroline reclined as if she’d just lain down for a nap in one of the unused receiving rooms.

  On his entry, she slid into a more proper position. “Mr. Crosby.”

  He set the saddle on an empty support and hung up his bridle. Then he considered her. “Should I expect a maid to enter pushing a tea cart?”

  “Of course not.” She crossed her arms, but the gesture only drew his attention to her breasts. Small, yet firm-looking, they shouldn’t distract him, but the sight made his mouth go dry. It made his palms itch for the feel of her nipples hardening beneath them. “Given the state of my ankle, I can hardly stand guard. I had to make do with sitting.”

  He forced his gaze to her face. “What is it you’re guarding?”

  “Boudicca, of course. You know someone must have let her out. I’d have asked the footmen to set me up in the aisle between the stalls, but the stable boys need that space. And I can watch well enough from here if anything goes amiss.”

  He followed the line of her sight out the open door. She did have a clean view down the aisle toward Boudicca’s stall. “Did something happen to make you think she might escape again?”

  “Mr. Pendleton paid me a visit earlier.”

  Her tone, heavy with significance, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “What did he want?”

  “The usual. If he can’t have Boudicca, he’ll take her foal. He all but admitted he let her out.”

  “He didn’t.” At least he could assure Lady Caroline of that much. “Not directly, at least. I found the boy who brought the message for Dysart last night, and he admitted to accepting extra coin to ensure your horse got out.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would one of our tenants deliver a message from Dysart’s father? The earl could have sent one of his servants.”

  “He did. The servant stopped at the village pub, where it seems he met Pendleton. Pendleton bought him enough ale to get the man talking and promised to pass the message along to Sherrington Manor.”

  Lady Caroline pressed her lips together. “That can only mean he’s been watching. He had to know Boudicca was in season.”

  “Do you think your visitor had anything to do with that?”

  “Lord Allerdale? Well, I suppose he might have. The two of them were friendly enough last June, and Pendleton had to know I wouldn’t allow him anywhere near my mare.” She turned her head away and muttered something under her breath. Adrian suspe
cted her words were more suited to the stable yard than the drawing room. “Blast the man, Allerdale came here as a spy. It was just my rotten luck Boudicca gave him something to report.”

  “And now you’ve risked your ankle to come out here and stand guard. Or is that sit?” Though he was no doctor, he wanted to see the injury for himself, but somehow that impulse translated into him catching the hem of her skirt and rubbing the fine fabric between his fingers. “What were you planning on doing if you actually caught someone tampering with Boudicca’s stall?”

  “I haven’t lost the use of my voice. I’d have ordered him to stop immediately.”

  “And if the miscreant persisted? You’re hardly in a position to run him down.”

  “The stable lads would have come at my shout. They’d put a stop to him.”

  “You ought to assign them to guard duty.” The thinnest muslin whispered as it sifted through his digits. “I cannot imagine you’d have stayed off your ankle if someone came after your horse.”

  He dropped her skirt, and set his fingertips against the fine bones of her lower leg, tracing the shape. Heat seeped through the linen bandages that bound her injury.

  She gasped.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.”

  He paused in anticipation of her order to desist. She said nothing.

  “You ought to be resting. If you overtax your ankle, you wain’t be fit to ride in your hunting party.”

  “I know.” She might have used a far more imperious intonation. She might have sounded annoyed with him for pointing out the obvious. But she did neither of those things. She’d breathed her reply. Soft, gentle.

  It made him think of all the places of equal softness he might discover on her body. He wanted to know them. To touch them. To reverence them.

  Damn it all.

  He pulled his hand away. Before he could step back, before he could remember his place and withdraw, she reached out and tangled her fingers with his, her grip strong from years of plying the reins.

  And that was a very bad thought to have, because it gave rise to others. It called to mind the firmness of her thighs and backside, molded by wet trousers. It made him wonder how those thighs might feel wrapped about his waist—or better yet, working as she rode him, rising and falling over him, her internal muscles just as tight about his cock.

  She leaned forward, her face inches from his, her breath fanning across his cheeks. Their gazes collided, held. A bell clanged in his mind, the sound distant enough that he could ignore it if he chose.

  “Don’t stop this time.” Another whisper, but it was as powerful as a shout.

  Her fingers clenched, and she drew him to her. Closer, until their lips nearly grazed.

  With a groan, he brought his free hand to her jaw, angled her face, and spanned the gap between them.

  Chapter 14

  Anyone who had watched Caro charge a four-foot stone wall at a full gallop would have termed her bold. Yet she’d never felt so daring as now. Good Lord, she’d all but challenged Mr. Crosby to kiss her, and he’d taken her up on the proposition.

  She hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d never before experienced such a burning desire to learn every intimate detail of another person—his scent, his taste, his very texture. And he was teaching her with every firm, hot press of his lips.

  The hand at her jaw slid back into her hair, his long fingers tangling, gripping. With gentle pressure, he angled her face upward to assault her from above. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, and she opened to him, gasping.

  Men had attempted to kiss her before—proper men, gentlemen, men whose suit Papa would approve—but none of them had approached her with this sort of unapologetic hunger. None of them had intrigued her enough to respond and moan and cling. None of them had ignited flames deep inside her. None of them had made her yearn for more.

  But Mr. Crosby did. Mr. Crosby, whose Christian name she did not know. Mr. Crosby, the estate agent.

  Long before she was prepared to call a halt, he broke off the kiss and pulled back. His breath came in harsh pants. “This is madness.”

  She touched her fingertips to her mouth in a vain attempt to soothe the tingling. “It’s glorious.”

  Damnation, she sounded like some breathless, empty-headed chit.

  “It cannot happen another time.” His voice was just as rough as his calloused hands.

  She leaned forward to bring her lips within inches of his. She’d tempted him once; she could do it again. “It’s not yet another time. It’s now.” She smoothed her fingertips along the shadow of beard at his jaw. “We could keep going.”

  He stepped away, out of reach, blast him, but his gaze drifted toward the open tack room door. A pause, the space of several heartbeats ensued, long enough to enflame a wild hope that he might be considering closing them in. “That is not a wise idea. A stable boy might come along at any time.”

  His assessment pushed a spike of irritation through her. Damn her ankle. If not for her injury, she could stand on her own. She could march over to him and suggest something scandalous, like finding someplace more private.

  “You understand,” he went on, “if anyone gets the idea I’ve done anything to ruin you…You mun know it would mean my job.”

  That pronouncement came like a bucket of icy water cascading over her head. He made her feel like a small child who’d just been caught pinching an extra tea cake. She stared down at her hands and prayed the room was dark enough to hide the color racing to her cheeks.

  “Yes, of course. Of course, you’ve the right of it.” There. That sounded officious enough. Perhaps even cold. “I don’t suppose I could ever have expected us to be friends.”

  “Friends?” Impossibly, he stepped closer, until the breadth of his shoulders blocked out the light coming from the door. “You know that is impossible when I am in your father’s employ.”

  Thank the heavens he remained silent on the rest. He could have made the point that friends did not kiss each other the way they just had. Friends did not feel such a powerful pull. At least Caro had never experienced anything like this with the gentlemen of her acquaintance. She’d just spent an entire day in Lord Allerdale’s company without the least pang of attraction.

  “And yet, I thought we shared an interest in riding and the estate,” she could not resist pointing out.

  “That does not trump our stations in life. It does not eclipse your being the daughter of a duke. It does not change the fact that I do not know who my father is.”

  Was that a shade of bitterness creeping into his tone? Even if it was, he might well be bitter over his lowly birth without it having any bearing on her.

  Still, she wanted to go to him, to lay a hand on his shoulder, to reassure him, though of what, she hadn’t the slightest clue. “I see.”

  “Do you?” Oh yes, his voice had gone altogether acerbic. “My mother was a tenant. She remains a tenant to this day.”

  “But you rose above that station.” In more than just position. He was fairer spoken than any tenant she’d ever encountered. Someone had drilled him in elocution.

  “I was fortunate. Wyvern’s agent took a liking to me. I’ve done better for myself than my mother might have hoped when she birthed me.”

  I cannot expect to rise higher in the world. Though he did not add those words, he might as well have. They echoed through the tack room.

  “Business it is, then.” She crossed her arms, though inwardly she’d rather hug herself. “What have you discovered about all the digging in the woods?”

  “I did as you asked.” The tension had drained out of his tone, but now he sounded like any servant giving a report, all forced courtesy and boredom. “I took Gem and the other lads out, and we combed the woods. We found a few more holes and filled them in.”

  “I see.” She repeated her earlier rejoinder in hopes of provoking him into something more interesting than a near-monotone. She’d much rather bear the brunt of his earlier p
assionate intensity. “And did you find any indication of who might have made those holes?”

  “I did not, my lady.”

  She gritted her teeth. “It’s occurred to me that anyone who wishes to disrupt my upcoming hunt might have come up with this scheme.”

  “Who would want to endanger horse and rider like that?”

  “True.” She bit her lip. Pendleton, at any rate, would not have risked Boudicca breaking a leg. Not when he wanted to acquire her for himself—and if he couldn’t have her, he wanted her foal. “I think you’d better show me for yourself.”

  “You’re hardly in any condition to be out riding.”

  “Tomorrow will do.” If he insisted on assuming his role, she might as well play lady of the manor.

  He muttered something under his breath. She thought she caught the words another day lost. Well, that was just too bad.

  “I cannot overwork my ankle sitting in the saddle, now, can I?”

  “If I might suggest…You ought to summon a footman to return you to the house, where you might rest properly.”

  “And what of Boudicca? Pendleton all but said he’d try again if he had to.”

  “I will alert the lads. I’ll even neglect my other duties and stay here myself.” Though his tone was hard, he placed a hand in the middle of his chest and bowed. “You have my assurance. No harm will come to your mare. Not on my watch.”

  —

  “Have you ever experienced lust?” The moment she blurted the question, Caro regretted the impulse.

  Across the bedchamber, Pippa slowly lowered the letter from which she’d been reading. “What did you just ask me?”

  Caro pushed aside the supper tray she’d ordered when she decided she couldn’t face another meal with Snowley presiding. She’d retreated to her quarters after her latest encounter with Mr. Crosby, and her sister, bless her, had seen fit to keep Caro company. “I asked if you’d ever experienced lust.”

  Pippa’s cheeks took on a deeper hue of rosy pink. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”