To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  She’d been sharing the adventures contained in Great-aunt Matilda’s latest missive aloud. Their great-aunt had taken her Swedish manservant on a tour of Italy; Caro’s attention had wandered somewhere near Milan. Somehow kissing Mr. Crosby was more interesting than the mostly finished cathedral or even convents containing da Vinci frescoes.

  “No,” Caro admitted. “But I’d like an answer.”

  In reality, she’d much prefer to hold this conversation with Lizzie, if only because her older sister definitely possessed personal experience where feelings of desire were concerned. But Lizzie was gone, and Caro couldn’t very well bring up this subject with Snowley. She shuddered at the thought.

  When it came to Pippa, on the other hand…In fact, her younger sister was something of a mystery. Since her coming-out four Seasons ago, she’d attended any number of balls and routs and house parties. And at any number of those functions, various suitable gentlemen had begged introductions. But Pippa had yet to show an interest in any of them.

  The same could be said of you, an annoying voice reminded Caro. But Lord only knew she’d had her own brush with heated sensations in parts better left unmentioned—at least since Mr. Crosby had come into her life. She ran a forefinger along her lower lip, imagining the insistent press of his mouth once again, his tongue probing, the fluttering in the pit of her belly…

  Pippa turned her head to regard Caro from the corner of her eye. “What is it you want to know?”

  “We always hear it’s a deadly sin.” Caro waved a hand, as if she could brush aside nearly two millennia of religious teaching. “But is it really so bad? It’s supposed to govern men, but what if it governs ladies, as well?”

  “Did you have a particular man in mind?” Pippa’s very tone suggested she’d already guessed, damn her.

  “Who’s to say it’s anyone. Perhaps Great-aunt Matilda’s letter got me thinking along those lines.”

  Pippa narrowed her eyes. “I cannot imagine why. We were just getting to another cathedral. Florence now. Though you told me you weren’t listening.”

  “I’m ready to listen now. Do go on.”

  Pippa pursed her lips before picking up the page again. Then her eyes widened. “Good heavens.”

  “What is it?”

  “Good Lord, I hadn’t yet reached the interesting bits. Listen to this. ‘In the middle of the Piazza della Signoria stands the most astonishing sight. A statue of a young man, larger than life, clad in nothing more than white marble, each exquisite muscle lovingly sculpted in the most lifelike detail. We were told the statue is meant to represent the youthful David about to confront Goliath. Would that I’d taken this journey in younger days so that these old eyes might fully appreciate the wonder of the sight. It is a good thing some society ladies I might name have been spared the view. They would have fainted dead away at the scandal, for David bears nary a fig leaf to preserve his modesty.’ ”

  Pippa broke off, and fanned the page in front of her face. “I wish Great-aunt Matilda had told me of her plans. I might have insisted on accompanying her.”

  “I think that answers my question.”

  “If you’d come along with me to view the collection of antiquities at Montagu House, you’d know exactly what I’m imagining. You wouldn’t believe how an excellent sculptor can achieve a nearly living form in marble, just as Great-aunt Matilda says. You can nearly see the muscle ripple beneath translucent flesh.”

  “Cor, don’t that sound like something?”

  Caro pulled herself out of a sudden vision of Mr. Crosby’s back muscles—warm, living flesh, not cold marble—bared to the hot summer sun. Sadie hovered just beyond the threshold.

  “What are you doing here?” Caro asked, perhaps more sharply than necessary, but, drat it, that vision had been an enjoyable one.

  “Yer pardon.” Sadie ducked her head, not quite a curtsey but near enough. “I heard voices. I couldn’t help but overhear, and then what I heard was so lovely.”

  “You really ought not to make habit of listening in at doors.” Not that Caro’s admonition would do much good when most of the servants behaved in the same manner.

  “Why have you left Gus?” Pippa broke in.

  “Oh, he sent me on a mission while he has his dinner, he did.” Sadie brushed her hands down her apron. “Ye wouldn’t happen to have cards, would ye?”

  “Cards?” Caro parroted.

  “For games, me lady. The boy wants for entertainment. That’s how he said it, all proper like. He said if I could find some cards, he’d teach me ter play.”

  Caro exchanged a look with her sister. Pippa appeared just as skeptical. “Are you certain he hasn’t just sent you on a lark? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Oh, me lady. He promised ter show me Vinty On.”

  “Do you mean Vingt-et-un?”

  “That’s it, me lady. He said it all fancy and foreign.”

  “And where would Gus have learned a game like that? Did he tell you gentlemen play it for stakes?” Caro did not really expect Sadie to supply the answer.

  “Said he learned it at school.” At least the girl was forthcoming. “Didn’t say nofink about stakes.” She bowed her head.

  Pippa scrambled to her feet and shook out her skirts. “I think I’d better look into this.”

  As she breezed from the bedchamber, a red-faced Sadie made to follow her.

  Caro held out a hand. “Just a moment.”

  Worrying at her lower lip, Sadie set a foot over the threshold. “I suppose yer goin’ ter give me the sack.”

  Caro focused on the girl’s fading bruises. She couldn’t possibly send Sadie back to the tenant cottage. Not after what Mr. Crosby had told her. “No, of course not. I just think you might find some amusement more appropriate to the boy’s age.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon.” A wash of pink rushed toward Sadie’s hairline, but she sidled closer. “I knows plenty about amusin’ men. I don’t know so much about boys, leastwise not boys his age.”

  Good Lord, what a risk Sadie took in that admission. A social stickler would have thrown her out on her ear, and Sadie had to suspect as much. But over and above any guilt Caro might experience if she sent Sadie back to Fletcher, the girl knew rather too much about Marcus Pendleton.

  Not that Caro had any interest in protecting that scoundrel, but Sadie had commented on a potential resemblance between Pendleton and the boy—a small detail easily forgotten when one was distracted by a handsome estate agent and his kisses, but the memory came rushing back now. Was Lizzie aware Dysart’s son might not belong to Dysart, after all? Worse, was Pendleton? And if he learned about it, would he try to use that as yet more leverage to attain what he wanted?

  “Perhaps you ought to keep that sort of information to yourself,” Caro replied.

  “Yes, me lady.” Though she’d begun sounding perfectly docile, in the next moment, Sadie’s mien melted into something rather more impish. “If ye don’t mind me saying so, I heard what ye were talkin’ about before. About the feelin’ between men and women.”

  “Good Lord, how long were you standing out there?”

  “Yer pardon. I know it weren’t right, but Lady Philippa was reading all about them foreign places. I’ll never get to go there, but just to learn they exist…” Sadie trailed off and her blush deepened, as if she realized how much she’d just revealed about herself. “But then ye asked about men, ye see, and that’s something I knows about.”

  She stepped within whispering range. “Ye see, they like a woman who knows what she wants. And they like it when she lets them know what they want without going all coy about it. Direct, that’s what they like.”

  Chapter 15

  Lady Caroline was displeased with him. Adrian could tell as much from her stiff posture—spine painfully straight, shoulders tense, the skirts of her riding habit trailing in prim folds of velvet, her gaze refusing to cross his for more than an instant or two. But mostly her displeasure appeared in her tersely worded replies
to his attempts at conversation.

  He ought to be happy that she’d assumed a businesslike demeanor the moment they set out through the woods. More, he ought to be just as irritated with her for making him waste another day on her plans for a hunt. He ought to be going over the estate records, verifying crop yields, talking to the tenants, determining how to make Sherrington Manor profitable once more.

  But, trailing with her through the woods, all he could think of was the day she’d shown him about the estate and how she’d challenged him to a race.

  All her spark was gone.

  Not that she could afford to risk further injury to herself by taking off through the trees without warning. Not that she was mounted on the proper horse for it, either. She’d left her prize mare in the stables in favor of a staid, plodding creature who was more interested in stealing bites of foliage than a rollicking jaunt across the fields.

  “Are you certain you’ve found them all?” From her perch, Lady Caroline leaned over to inspect a fresh pile of earth, where before dried leaves and bracken had hidden an excavation.

  “As certain as I can be.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “There’s always the chance you missed one or two. I cannot risk galloping horses through here.”

  “Were you planning on hunting in this specific spot?”

  “You must know there’s no telling where the hounds will lead us.”

  They stood in a remote corner of the woods, far from the manor and the open fields. A sharp wind whipped through the upper branches of dark trees, unseen fingers reaching for the bushes tangled about their roots.

  Adrian had to admit the cover was good in a place like this. “Surely you wouldn’t hare through here with the entire field.”

  “No, but once they flush out a fox…”

  “Still, you’d be prudent. Look around. We’re not anywhere near your usual trail. I combed that area very carefully and unearthed little. In fact, every obstacle I found lay off the path.” He nudged his mount closer so he could look her in the eye. At the same time he damned himself for desiring her attention. “It doesn’t appear to me that anyone wished to lay a trap or lame the horses in your hunt. If anything, whoever dug the holes was attempting to hide something.”

  “Good heavens, you make it sound like buried treasure.”

  “It may well have been.”

  “What did you find?”

  He glanced above. The wind parted the foliage to reveal a deepening gray sky. “Nowt.”

  “But you suspect something.”

  “More like someone. My predecessor.”

  A crease formed between her brows, the tiniest blemish in flawless skin. “Predecessor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Barrows.” Adrian drew his lapels closer to his chin, the rough wool scratchy beneath his hands. The wind was growing colder, an early harbinger of the coming winter. “If he was keeping back a portion of the rents for himself, he’d have to keep those funds somewhere.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” The furrow deepened. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  “What, then?”

  “It’s you. You told me yesterday your mother was a tenant, yet you sound nothing like Sadie when you talk.” True, his Yorkshire origins slipped off his tongue, but that only served as counterpoint to his speech.

  The rising wind struck him in the face like a lash, accompanied by stinging droplets of rain. “Do you doubt my word now? Everything I’ve told you about myself is true.”

  “No.” She extended a hand toward him. “That is not how I meant it. Only…Someone worked with you to ensure you fit in.”

  “Indeed.” For a long moment that sole utterance was all he could squeeze between his set teeth. Aye, he’d taken pains to make his speech acceptable to his betters. It was supposed to help him advance in life. But his elocution lessons had resulted in unforeseen consequences.

  None of which were Lady Caroline’s fault. Damn it all.

  Before he could offer an apology, the wind howled, and the sky opened up.

  For the space of several heartbeats, Lady Caroline stared at him while rain dripped down her face and bodice, and he could read her internal struggle. Clearly she was considering riding off and forcing him to chase her home, not that he’d blame her. At last, she said, “Over there.”

  His gaze followed the direction of her outstretched arm. The undergrowth and a layer of ivy all but masked a stone wall. He’d noticed it yesterday, but hadn’t bothered to investigate when the structure looked as if it might tumble to the ground with the next gust of wind. “What is that?”

  She clucked to her mount and set off at a brisk trot. “An old folly, but it’ll offer shelter until the storm passes.”

  “The day I met you, you were soaked to the skin.”

  “That doesn’t mean I enjoy the experience.”

  He kept any further arguments to himself along with his misgivings at remaining alone with her and dug his heels into his steed. As they approached, the branches seemed to melt away to reveal a more substantial building than he’d realized at first glance. Behind the wall, a replica of a Tudor house, complete with half timbers and diamond-paned windows, rose from a tangle of tall bushes and ferns. Beneath a shake-covered roof, a second story overhung the ground floor.

  “You call that a folly?”

  Lady Caroline pushed a slick of wet hair out of her eyes. “I suppose the gamekeeper inhabited it, when the estate had a gamekeeper. No one’s lived here in recent memory.”

  Following her, Adrian reined up beneath the overhang and slid to the wet earth. An inch beyond his shoulder, the rain fell in a steady curtain. He looked at Lady Caroline. “How is your ankle?”

  “Not healed enough to dismount.”

  He’d expected as much. A footman had helped her hobble to the stable yard before they set off on this outing. She’d used the mounting block to scramble onto her horse, but this dwelling possessed no such commodity.

  Adrian had no choice but to help her. He stepped to the side of her mount and held out his arms. “Easy now.”

  She unhooked her knee from the saddle horn and leaned toward him, setting her hands on his shoulders. He told himself not to meet her gaze, but somehow that only meant he found himself looking into a pair of wide hazel eyes.

  Awareness washed over him. This wasn’t Lady Caroline, this was a woman, warm and vibrant, a woman he’d kissed only the day before. He knew her scent, her taste, the very texture of her full lower lip. Her unique and provocative combination had overwhelmed his senses. The memory of her kiss had haunted him in his bed last night and left him tossing on the mattress. That memory came rushing back now, sending a surge of blood to his groin.

  With torturous languidness, she slipped from the saddle into his arms, her lean curves sliding down his chest. By the time she reached the ground, she stood in his full embrace, her body plastered to his, their hips aligned, her parted lips inches from his.

  He could take her mouth again. He could close his teeth on her lower lip, bite down, and use his tongue to soothe the spot. He could discover every tiny nook on her body that made her moan and writhe with pleasure. All he had to do was give in.

  —

  His fingers were digging into her waist, but the last thing Caro wanted was to protest. Not the way he was looking at her as if, from one instant to the next, he might devour her whole. The very idea flooded her mind with all manner of forbidden images.

  Heaven above, she ought to be piqued at him after his display of short temper just now. After the way he’d put her off yesterday. He’d wanted business and she’d given him as much, but now all she could think of was the heat pulsing off his solid body in waves, the steady throb awakening an answering beat deep inside her.

  Direct. That had been Sadie’s advice. The only problem was, Caro had been direct yesterday. Mr. Crosby had rewarded her with a taste, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She let her fingers wander up from his shoulders into the dark, rain-dampened strands of hair at the nape of his
neck.

  His grip on her tightened for the briefest of moments before releasing altogether. He stepped back, breaking all contact, and cold air rushed between them.

  Damnation, not direct enough.

  “We can’t stay here.” At least his voice sounded rough and rumbly, small enough satisfaction though it was.

  “You want to go back out in that?” Bracing herself against the side of the building, she waved a hand toward the dreary gray curtain just beyond the overhang. “I think we’d be more comfortable inside, as long as we can get the door to open.”

  He set his shoulder to the plank of wood and heaved. The door flew inward and slammed against the wall, causing the windows to rattle in their frames.

  “Your pardon,” Mr. Crosby mumbled. “I expected it to be latched.”

  So had Caro. She crossed the threshold, limping in his wake, and waited for her eyes to adjust. “I thought there would be a lot more dust.”

  Given how long this space had lain uninhabited, she’d been prepared for filth and mouse droppings, worn planked flooring without furnishings and certainly not this single, spacious room stretching the width of the ground floor. A table and dry sink huddled in a corner, overhung by shelves filled with crockery. A fireplace tall enough for Mr. Crosby to stand in spanned an entire wall. An iron pot swung from a hook, waiting for someone to happen along and prepare a meal. Though a set of stairs disappeared through a beamed ceiling, a tangle of bedclothes lay before the hearth, flanked by a pair of wooden chairs.

  “I thought you said no one lived here.” Mr. Crosby moved to the fireplace, reached for a small brass shovel, and scooped up a pile of ashes. “Given the state of this place, these have to be fairly recent.”

  “No one lives here.” Caro made her way to one of the chairs and sat, her injured ankle extended. “At least not officially.”

  “It’s the unofficially that worries me.” He picked up some kindling from a neat stack next to the hearth and began to arrange it.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?”