To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and the fire burnished her hair with copper and flickered off flawless porcelain skin. She ran the pink tip of her tongue across a pouty lower lip, and he suppressed a groan.

  Damn her perfection. He couldn’t get enough of it.

  He set his hands on the back of her chair, framing her shoulders, caging her. He heaved himself to his feet. Then he gathered her to his chest, lifting and pivoting until she settled in his lap. Her breath rushed out in a gasp.

  She raised her hand to his jaw, the pads of her fingers smooth and silky next to his skin as she traced a path down his neck. Lower, beneath his jacket but over his shirt, she drew patterns, then flattened her palm and smoothed it down his chest. Her bold caress burned hot as a brand, yet it wasn’t enough. He craved that searing heat directly on his skin.

  But even more, an urge rose in him to reciprocate. He wanted to return every ounce of pleasure a hundredfold. And so he leaned in to set his lips just beneath her ear. The flutter of her rushing pulse met his tongue.

  “Do you want me to touch you the same way you’re touching me?” he murmured against her throat.

  Her nearly inaudible gasp told him yes and sent his imagination wandering along all the sensual paths that might wring more from her. Gasps and sighs and screams.

  She reached for his hand and bumped a finger along the calluses of his palm. “I want your hands all over me.”

  He pulled back. “Because they’re rough?”

  “Because they’re yours.”

  He closed his eyes to shield himself from that bit of stark honesty, but he couldn’t resist torturing himself by probing further. “Skin to skin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not afraid I’ll snag you?”

  “I’m more afraid you won’t.”

  Good God in heaven, the images that conjured. He could mark her in any number of ways, and she wouldn’t protest. No, she’d revel in it.

  His fingers trembled as he reached for the buttons of her velvet bodice. One by one, he loosened each fastening and pushed the fabric aside. The wide neck of her chemise revealed delicate collarbones and the creamy swells of her breasts, pushed high by stays, a blank canvas for his lips and teeth, should he choose.

  He traced a single, work-roughened finger along the edge of her chemise, watched her lips part and her head tilt back in offering.

  With mouth and teeth and hands, he took it. Breathing her in, her scent like rain and wet pine, he dragged his tongue from her jawline to the notch at the base of her throat. His hand dipped, as well, until he cupped one small, firm breast. Her nipple peaked into his palm, and a gust of air rushed from her mouth.

  That airy sigh sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

  “Damnation, what is this?”

  Her slip into profanity made him smile. He brushed his thumb over the tip of her breast just to see if he could provoke from her a little more salt. “What’s what?”

  “This feeling. This…”

  “This pleasure?” Another stroke. Her eyes fluttered shut. “It’s lust.” It had to be. He wouldn’t let it be anything else. He couldn’t let it be anything else.

  “Is it just lust?”

  Damn her for confirming his fear. He dropped his hand and pulled back as far as he might with Lady Caroline still in his lap. “Whatever it is, we cannot continue to indulge. We’re fast approaching an aspect of life you should explore only with your husband.”

  God, he sounded like the worst kind of moralizer, especially when he’d been encouraging her response only moments before, but if he could prod her into standing, so much the better. His cock ached with the need for satisfaction.

  She shifted on his thighs, turning to face him head-on. “What if I plan never to marry?”

  “Your father expects you to.”

  Her teeth sinking into her lower lip, she held his gaze. “I am drawing the inevitable conclusion that I won’t find anyone. At least no one who meets both Papa’s and my standards.”

  Her statement hit him like a knee to his groin. The soles of his feet itched with the need to walk away from her, to pace, to do something to burn off the excess of energy she’d aroused in him, but he could hardly dump her to the floor—or ask her to stand on her injured ankle. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I when the sort of man Papa wants me to accept will expect me to play the proper, dutiful wife? Can you imagine?” She spread her palm across her bare chest. “Me hosting dinner parties and taking tea with other titled ladies? I wouldn’t be allowed to hunt. No, he’ll want heirs and babies, and I can’t—”

  Without warning she closed her mouth. Two patches of pink bloomed on her cheeks, giving Adrian the distinct impression she’d revealed more than she’d intended. She dipped her head and concentrated on arranging her loosened bodice.

  “If you wish to avoid finding yourself with child, that is all the more reason to stop.” He glanced toward the window. The rain seemed to have let up. “In fact, we ought to return to the manor before someone misses us.”

  —

  “Have you been attending to a word of this discussion?”

  At Pippa’s pointed question, Caro stopped pushing the food about her plate. She wasn’t even sure what they were having for supper. For all she noted, the main dish might have been Papa’s beloved tripe.

  “No,” she confessed. “Your pardon. Did you require my opinion on anything?”

  “Well, really.” Snowley put down his wineglass. “Would we have gone through all that if we didn’t want to know what you think?”

  Pippa shot him a quelling look before turning back to Caro. “Where has your mind wandered? You’ve seemed distracted ever since you came in from your ride.”

  Where indeed? Caro certainly couldn’t admit to the truth, at least not in front of her cousin. Perhaps later she might disclose to her sister what had happened at the folly—in very general terms, of course. She couldn’t possibly go into too much wanton detail—for it was wanton the way her body had continued to ache and throb in unspeakable places long after she and Mr. Crosby had parted. But a small discussion might help to sort out her feelings.

  “I wish I could capture that expression in charcoal,” Pippa went on. “Your face looks like it can’t decide whether to be irritated or come over all dreamy. Which—come to think of it—is fairly alarming. You never daydream.”

  Blast it. Pippa was about to put two and two together and arrive at scandal.

  Caro made an attempt to school her features, though part of her wanted to indulge in the snarled knot of frustration Mr. Crosby had created deep inside her. More than created. He’d tied it all up in a tangled bow. But the more practical side of her nature recognized he’d been right to stop things where he had. If only he hadn’t taken them so far as to arouse her curiosity about relations between men and women.

  Ever since she’d hidden in the hayloft to spy on a horse breeding, ever since she’d recognized that humans must go through a similar process to reproduce, she’d sworn to herself that she would never be a party to such goings-on. Witnessing her mother bear child after child, witnessing her parents’ grief when the babies didn’t survive, seeing how Mama had finally given up and let herself slip away, Caro had determined never to tread that path.

  In the end, it had only taken a couple of kisses and a few touches to drive that resolve from her mind. Not as much as a kiss. Mr. Crosby stirred your baser nature the moment you saw him toiling in that ditch.

  And before that, he’d touched her heart with his willingness to stop in the pouring rain and ignore his own comfort to help a complete stranger. Mere urchins to his mind.

  He’d driven her to the unexpected, alarming feelings of desire and need and a hunger that led to the bedchamber rather than the dinner table.

  “And she’s off again.” Pippa tossed her serviette onto her plate. “What has got into you?”

  “Oh, I was wondering about the folly, I suppos
e.”

  “The…folly,” Pippa echoed. “It must be quite spectacular to produce such a level of distraction.”

  “Folly?” Snowley leaned back in his chair so a footman could take his empty plate. “Has one been installed on the estate and no one consulted me about it?”

  “Of course not.” Caro tamped down a wave of irritation. Her cousin was fond of prematurely taking on the role of the duke. “You’ve seen it. You used to tell us it was haunted when we were children. It’s back in the far corner of the woods.”

  “That’s not a folly.” Snowley reached for the decanter to refill his glass. “It’s the old gamekeeper’s cottage.”

  “It’s quite a ways off your usual path.” Pippa was eyeing her closely. Too closely.

  “Mr. Crosby wanted to show me how thorough a job he did combing the woods for potential dangers for riders.” There. Hopefully that sounded innocent enough.

  “You were gone an awfully long time.”

  “The rain caught us. Luckily the cottage was to hand. You know, the place is still sound for all it’s stood vacant. I don’t know why we don’t furnish it. We could house guests there. You know what a time Lizzie had finding rooms for everyone at the last house party. We might even consider it for some of the hunting party when they begin arriving. It’s almost like a lodge.”

  Pippa stared at Caro as if she’d gone mad—and perhaps she had.

  Caro’s smile became so fixed, her cheeks ached. “I know Lizzie usually takes care of these sorts of problems, but she’s not here right now and someone has to think about all the small details.”

  Snowley cleared his throat. “Just how big a party are you planning? Because I’m not at all certain about the finances.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Only what I’ve been attempting to discuss with you all meal.” He swiped at a dribble of wine at the corner of his mouth. “After all that nonsense with Barrows—”

  “Lizzie made up for those losses. She sold her land and injected the funds back into the estate.”

  “Our new estate agent has been showing me the books.”

  “Teaching you to understand them, you mean.” Petty of her, perhaps, but without her sister about to keep their cousin in line, heaven only knew what notions Snowley had conjured.

  “According to my calculations,” Snowley went on in a more forceful tone, “we still have quite a shortfall to make up. I’ve been talking it over with Crosby. He has an idea or two he wishes to try to make the estate more profitable, and I am in full agreement.”

  Caro was suddenly thankful she’d spent the entire meal moving her food about her plate. If she’d managed to swallow anything, it would doubtless by roiling in her stomach right now. She glanced at Pippa for reassurance, but her sister was concentrating very hard on the contents of her wineglass.

  Damnation.

  “Just what have you agreed to?”

  “He wants those fields you use, the ones on the other side of the north irrigation channel.”

  “He’s already talked to me about that. He agreed to wait until spring before he did anything with them.”

  “Oh, no, you’ve misunderstood the situation entirely. He needs them now, and I’ve told him to go ahead and get them under cultivation.”

  Chapter 18

  He wasn’t going to manage without the extra fields.

  For the hundredth time, Adrian looked over his carefully drawn plans of the estate. Woods and streams, tenants’ houses, irrigation channels, fields and pastures, all delineated and labeled. He’d cross-checked every past use of each parcel of land, as well as what he could glean from his predecessor’s records.

  And every time, he’d drawn the same conclusion. He couldn’t afford not to put Lady Caroline’s fields under cultivation.

  He’d discussed the situation with Snowley earlier, yet ever since Wilde’s departure for the dining room, Adrian had attempted to find another way. But another way simply did not exist if he wanted to increase Sherrington’s profits.

  Adrian pushed back from his desk and scrubbed a hand over his face, tugging at his hair. His stomach rumbled. Though the family must have dined long since, he’d have to find his way to the kitchens and hope the cook had left him something.

  The sound of a throat clearing pulled his attention to the open doorway.

  Damn. Lady Caroline blocked his escape.

  “Did you need anything?” Damn again. And wasn’t that a poor choice of phrasing, given what had passed between them this afternoon?

  “A word, if you will.” Ice infused her reply. The chilly response went well with her attire. She’d dressed for dinner. The exquisite cut of her pale blue gown skimmed the slim lines of her figure. The shimmering silk, along with the subtle sheen of pearls at her throat, lent her a distant, queenly air that only served to remind him of his place.

  Just as well. Perhaps he’d remember to keep his hands to himself. He gestured to a chair. “Please sit.”

  “Thank you.” Perfectly courteous and proper. Perfectly clipped and cold.

  She limped to the seat and settled herself, smoothing her skirt over matching slippers. The left one bulged beneath the extra binding about her foot and ankle.

  He suppressed the urge to inquire after her injury. Both of them knew she was doing a terrible job of staying off it.

  Her gaze landed on the papers spread across his desk. “So Snowley was right. You were planning to go behind my back.”

  All his interactions with her up to now would have led him to expect a display of temper, not this regal contempt. But that only made her reaction worse.

  He cast about for an appropriate reply. I can explain wasn’t going to cut it. “No, I was going to tell you.”

  “When? Were you waiting for my ankle to heal? Or maybe you were going to wait until my guests arrived and tell them the hunt was canceled?”

  “What?” Good Lord, how was she leaping to such wild conclusions?

  “Don’t act surprised. Snowley told me everything. I can’t believe I all but begged you to kiss me when you were bound to humiliate me in the worst way possible.”

  “I don’t understand.” He skirted the desk and stood before her. Let him block her vision. Let her withstand the full force of his glare. “How can you value my word so little?”

  She angled her torso forward, both hands planted on the armrests. Prepared to launch herself at him, her sprained ankle be damned, if he didn’t miss his guess. “Your word? You told me you wouldn’t touch those fields until after the hunt, but that’s not what Snowley said.”

  He forced air in through his nostrils. Control. He needed to hold on to his temper. “What, exactly, did your cousin tell you?”

  “That you mean to put those fields under cultivation immediately, which would force me to rescind my invitation to Sir Bellingham.”

  “Oh, good Lord.” A bark of laughter escaped before he could contain it. “Your cousin took me too literally. I mentioned making something of that land, aye, but waiting a sennight to break the sod wain’t change anything.”

  “My cousin is an idiot.”

  Adrian couldn’t disagree with her assessment, but he only allowed himself a tight smile.

  “Your pardon if I doubted you,” she went on, while her cheeks took on a darker shade of pink. “I suppose I’ve been nothing but a hindrance to you since your arrival, and yet you’ve never complained. You’ve done nothing but help me with whatever I needed.”

  “I’ve done nowt but my duty.” God, he hoped that didn’t sound bitter. Not that he resented his duty, per se, only his obligation to perform it. “Yet I’m not sorry for a single one of my actions.” Not the kissing, not the stopping. Well, perhaps he regretted stopping, but only in a fleeting—and if he was honest, selfish—sense. But in the long run, he well knew he’d have regretted continuing even more, no matter what his body tried to argue.

  She stared down at her hands while color bloomed on her cheeks. “I suppose
I ought to apologize for a few more of my remarks. I spoke in the heat of the moment.”

  Making her excuses to a member of her staff had to be a singular experience for someone of Lady Caroline’s status. Having one of his superiors ask pardon certainly lay outside the realm of Adrian’s past interactions with his employers.

  “Consider the matter closed.” He swept a hand toward the papers on his desk. “Why don’t I show you the plans I discussed with your cousin?”

  She stared up at him. “You would do that?”

  “Why not? Unlike Snowley, you’ve actually lived on this estate your entire life. Maybe you can lend me some insight that he cannot.”

  —

  Caro had left the supper table ready to do battle. She’d never expected this outcome. Not only was Mr. Crosby not disputing her, he’d asked her opinion. He was including her in estate business.

  Half an hour or more had passed since he’d helped her to his place behind the desk, smoothed his broad hands over his sketch of the property, and pointed out the various uses of the land. Hovering at her back, close enough she could feel his breath stirring her hair, he outlined his carefully laid plans.

  “I’d like to try barley here next season.” He indicated her training field on his chart. “According to the records Barrows left, I think it stands a chance of doing well.”

  “Barrows? What makes you believe you can trust his records, when he robbed us blind?”

  “I’m aware he doctored the finances, but I’ve no reason to think he’d tamper with the estate’s profitability. He had every reason to see that succeed, if only so he could skim more money.”

  Caro chewed her lip. She could hardly argue with that logic. “Where did you learn all this?”

  “I told you my story.” Mr. Crosby’s voice rumbled just behind her ear. “I followed Mr. Danvers about the Wyvern estate and he taught me all he knew.”

  “But how do you keep it all straight? The barley and the rye and the oats and the best conditions to grow them and get a good crop? When to plant and when to harvest?”

  “Lots of practice. Once you’re used to it, it’s much the same from year to year. You mun have seen that for yourself, as long as you’ve lived here.”