by Jackie Ivie
Her lips twisted. It was now ten past, and knowing her luck, he probably still hadn’t opened it!
She stilled as a man silhouetted himself in the framework.
“Your Grace?” Elise whispered when he appeared. It was difficult to see him. His presence was only visible due to the lighter shade of darkness about him.
“Even you could not be so cruel, Elise.”
Roald’s voice cracked intentionally as he approached. Elise stumbled until her back touched a pole.
“I...I am meeting the duke on a private matter. You are not to interfere. I have something I have to make him aware of.”
“What could be of such import that you seek his company here, at night ... alone and unescorted?”
“It’s none of your concern,” she replied.
“It’s of every concern to me.”
“You’re not to follow me, Roald. I won’t have it! Now go!”
“You expect me to ignore this pursuit of him?” he asked.
Elise stuck out her jaw, pushing her lower teeth past the upper ones. He couldn’t see it. “You’re mistaken, but I won’t explain. I don’t have to explain my actions to anyone. That’s the way I like it.”
“How many times have I asked you, Elise? Do you feel nothing for me? Nothing for my... suffering?”
His voice, as much as his words, would have been wrenching had she not already eavesdropped on just such a speech before. Roald had once hidden her in a cupboard at his apartment when one of his many women came to see him and listen to the same wrenching words.
“Roald, I’ll have no man. I’ve told you often enough. None.”
He dropped to one knee before her. Elise could just make out his face and the glint of his eyes in what light slithered through the gazebo’s widely spaced poles. She stiffened.
“Marry me, Elise.”
“No.”
“I’m ... begging you,” he beseeched, making his voice faltering and shy sounding.
Elise’s features froze. “Don’t. It doesn’t become you.”
“I’ll die without you.”
The man should have been on the stage. She’d often thought it. Now, she knew for certain. “Put the thought to paper, and perhaps I’ll read it, Roald,” she said coldly.
“Do you care nothing for me?”
“Oh, please. Stop this. I’ve heard this same speech from you too many times and to too many other women. You needn’t start boring me with such stupidity at this date. I’ll not listen. Now, get up.”
“You think you know me, don’t you, Elise?”
“Not as well as I thought, obviously.”
“You think I’ll just leave him the clear field?”
“You’re mistaken, Roald. I’ll not repeat it again. Is this the way you wish to end our friendship . . . and your loans?”
“You think I’ll just let you go?”
“You’ve little choice in the matter. Get off your knees and allow me to retire to my chamber.”
“I love you, Elise.”
“As I’ve already heard you say such a thing many times over, and in the same convincing tone, to lots of other women, I’ll not repeat that, either. See me back to the house, Roald, and let’s end this.”
“But this time I mean it. I swear!”
“Oh, please. How much do you need this time? Own up. I’ll pay it, but never again, understand?”
“That isn’t what I want, and you know it.”
“I’ll find my own way back to the house. Good night.”
Wreathed in moonlight-strewn mist, Barrigan’s property was romantic and enchanting. It was also rough and unkempt. Elise made it back to the house without one misstep. He didn’t try to stop her. She didn’t think about that until later.
Chapter 5
Saturday dawned bright and sunny, darn her luck.
Elise looked out morosely at the beauty of dawn-highlighted fields. They’d let out the fox any time now and her horse was fidgeting. Not as much as those that Sir Roald, His Grace, and Barrigan were fighting to control, but enough to keep Elise occupied.
She checked the glove’s buttons on the backs of her wrists again and silently cursed that move, too. She knew they were still fastened. Everything was still in place. From the chignon at the back of her neck to the thirty-nine buttons on each boot, she was still perfectly dressed and groomed, and as it appeared, so was every other guest.
Only Lady Beth had resisted the invitation to the hunt. Lady Beth’s auburn hair was loose on her shoulders, her pearls still entwined her throat, and she looked fresh and relaxed in her peach gown and like-colored pelisse, sitting in an open coach. Elise envied her.
Elise had learned how to ride two years earlier, when one of her men had tired of pretending to be a lover and amused himself teaching her. She knew well enough how to stay atop a horse, but only for a nice, elegant ride through Hyde Park. This was something else.
Elise patted her mount. Thankfully, Barrigan had allowed her to pick it out herself. She’d opted for an older gelding of a gentle nature. Their barely hidden smiles hadn’t changed her mind, either. She didn’t have anyone to impress. Not with her riding, anyway.
The fox shot from its cage, and Elise realized her luck as she didn’t have to spur her mount; he’d done this before.
It wasn’t as different to race through the meadow as she’d suspected. Elise was flattered and a bit pleased to find herself in the midst of the riders. She could see Colin MacGowan was leading the field, although Roald hung directly behind him. Elise would have been disappointed if it were any different, and she was disgusted to admit that much to herself.
The Duke of MacGowan was ignoring her. He had to be. The dark crimson of her habit wasn’t difficult to spot. Elise had made certain when selecting the shadow-striped, silk material that any ensemble sewn from it would be as eye-catching as it was.
She knew her appearance was spectacular. The first reaction told her as much, but it did nothing to soothe her vanity. The duke had studiously ignored every opportunity to speak to her, or even to look at her. Roald wasn’t much better. He wasn’t importuning himself with her, but she caught his glance on her more than once.
He wasn’t through with her, that much she knew. She wondered how much it was going to cost her to pay him off and be rid of him. The situation was ridiculous. No lady of the realm paid off her sham lovers!
How had she allowed such a thing to happen, anyway? She sighed, then answered her own question. She’d spent too many evenings holding her admirers at arm’s length, that’s how. She hadn’t noted when they became fewer and fewer. Sir Roald had been the only hanger-on. Elise wondered how she’d manage the many society functions still ahead of her without a ready escort to help alleviate the boredom.
The hounds bayed from beyond a hill, out of her sight. Now, she got to wonder how that had happened, too. One moment she was amidst the chase, the next she was by herself.
“Oh, well.”
She said it aloud, then sighed dispiritedly. Her heart wasn’t in the chase, and she didn’t want to see the duke win. She had no doubt that a MacGowan would excel. They always did.
Elise let the horse have its head and wasn’t surprised when all it did was bend to munch on the unkempt grass beside the fence. Barrigan really should send his groundskeepers to mow some of the overgrowth away. It was obvious they were a lazy bunch, she told herself.
She was doing too much thinking anymore. It wasn’t like her. She was supposed to be enjoying the Season. She was supposed to be putting the gossips on their ears. She was supposed to be setting an example of self-absorbed, self-serving, and lustful ways that couldn’t be topped. And she was supposed to be making certain the MacGowans knew that their precious Evan had left an heir, albeit an illegitimate one. That’s what she was supposed to be doing, and what had she managed? To sicken herself with thinking of their laird.
Perhaps she’d go to the Wyndham Villa in Monte Carlo. She could be early this year. No one would expect
that. Everyone would be expecting her to supplant Roald in her affections with another male conquest. She was tired of the stupid, unspoken rules the ton followed. Monte Carlo was fresher, less restricted, more open. There, none would expect her to posture at will. Perhaps there she could be herself.
If she remembered who that was anymore.
A red animal streaked past, startling her horse. Elise grabbed for the mane to hold her seat as dog after dog raced by.
“Blast it! Watch your—!”
Elise hadn’t had time to do more than put her hands up as the duke’s mount flew over the fence and landed beside her. The ground thudded, chunks of dirt flew, and her horse reared. Elise didn’t know the earth was that hard, or that the sky above her was so blue. She couldn’t remember why she’d want to know, either.
“God’s blood, Madame, but you are the most reckless, stubborn, and stupid woman of my acquaintance!”
Her collar was nearly wrenched from its exquisite sewing as a massive hand grabbed it and yanked her to the fence. She would have screamed when he pulled her beneath the bottom rung, too, except the field of horses leaping the fence and landing where she’d just been silenced her more effectively than a gag.
“Have you nae sense?”
Elise grabbed onto him, holding his jacket so tightly her fingers felt enmeshed with the leather lapels on his tweed jacket. She had her eyes squeezed shut, too, to stop the frightened tears. She was barely stopping the screams. Didn’t he have enough sense to know that much?
“I asked you a question.”
His voice was harsh with the exertion he’d just been through. From where she was held, directly atop him, she could feel every bit of brawn, every deep breath, every nuance. Elise shook her head and pulled closer to him. “Don’t... say anything more. Please.”
Another clod of earth hit her in the back and she whimpered. The tall grass was shielding them better than anything else would have, but she trembled anew at every ground tremor. She didn’t dare open her eyes. The MacGowan would know how near tears she was, and no one ever saw such an emotion from the notorious Dowager Duchess of Wynd.
“Spoiled ... beautiful, irresponsible, little twit.”
Fingers touched the area beneath her chin, lifting it, and then his nose matched against hers. Elise didn’t have time to do anything other than suck in a gasp as his lips found hers. Then she lost the ability to control anything—her thoughts, her reactions, or her body. Liquid heat washed over her in waves of tremors, blocking out the terror of a moment before.
The ground wasn’t thudding with hooves anymore, but her body wouldn’t cease shaking. Shivers flew down each limb and were followed by more of them, over and over, time and time again. Warm, hard lips pulled her own awry, as he turned his head in order to more fully possess her mouth. Elise moaned, and with the movement her lips parted. Colin used the opening to flick his tongue against her own. Elise’s entire being pulsed at the sensation, and from some instinctive flight of fantasy, she recognized it. She joined him breath to breath, as they grew in cadence, strength, and volume. Without conscious volition, her fingers left the lapels of his jacket, smoothed up over those massive shoulders, and started raking through the tail of hair at his neck.
Now, it was Colin’s turn to moan, and the arms about her tightened, stealing her breath and crunching her corset against her ribs. Elise didn’t even feel it. Hard. He was hard. Covered with tweed and muslin and cotton duck, he was still hard. And lumpy. Her body molded to the parts of him she was touching, sliding sinuously atop him as his hands started moving, claiming, teasing ... damning.
Her moan wasn’t audible, but she knew what it was as he roamed his hands all over her back, uncrossing his arms when he reached her buttocks in order to cup them and assist her with her writhing motions. Then he was moving them back up, pressing her so tightly to that mass of chest, she was in danger of having the boning from her corset permanently embossed onto her torso.
A loud shout came, stopping everything for an encapsulated, frozen, infinitesimal amount of time. Elise halted every motion at the same moment he pulled his head away, releasing her mouth. Those wide-open, green-flecked brown eyes were glazed with something akin to shock. She’d never seen such an expression.
She had to look away; her mind was devoid of anything she had to make it do. She looked down, past the freshly shaved, strong chin of his, noted that the brown tie was pulled loose, and stopped at the opening of his button placket on his muslin shirt How had that happened? She focused on an open buttonhole. What had she been doing? What was she thinking? Oh, dearest God! She begged it silently. Then, it clicked. She was the Ice Goddess. She was emotionless. Heartless. Ruthless. Arrogant. Merciless.
“Well... This is a surprise, you’re good. You are verra good.” The duke’s voice growled at her ear, as well as echoing from the mass of man she was perched upon.
Her mouth opened to say something disdainful. Nothing came out. She had to close it again.
“No answer? Interesting.”
Her lips twisted. She opened them again. Nothing came out... again.
“A woman of few words is a thing of beauty. Or so my father always used to tell me. Damn me, if it isn’t true.”
He chuckled, making her body, where she was still clasped against him, experience it at the same time. That was so foreign, anything she could have thought of answering flew completely out of her grasp. It was worse than the dinner had been.
Her eyes narrowed to make it harder to see. It didn’t work. The experience, sight, smell, and sound of him were too large and perfectly focused to ignore. She could swear she could evaluate the looming quality of the tweed material of his jacket simply by the feel of still being clasped to it, and the texture of every strand of his hair beneath every perfectly manicured fingernail, from the queue she was still holding on to.
“Have you naught to say?” he asked.
“I... no.” Her voice didn’t sound right. That was worrisome. Everything was, especially where she still lay, enwrapped in the Duke of MacGowan’s arms and with her bent legs ensconced between where his own had opened, and then closed, trapping hers.
“Well, I have plenty.”
Elise turned her head slightly and watched the grass in front of her face that was still shielding them. It was akin to being in a small, intimate, hidey-hole— with the one man she daren’t be. She frowned. His chest rose and fell. So did she. The shivers from that contact flew her arms to her fingers, and down her legs to her toes, before she could figure out enough about why to stop them. She was going to cry; but that would be so much worse, it was incomprehensible. She gulped the emotion back, closed her eyes, and gulped again. She was afraid he’d spot her trembling, and then he spoke, confirming that very thing.
“You can cease this. There’s nae one about to posture to that gives a damn. I certainly doona’.”
She began pulling her fingers away from each strand of that wavy, reddish hair, trying her level best to keep him from noticing it. He moved an arm from her back, cursing her with the instant chill from its absence, and placed it beneath his head, trapping her fingers exactly where they were. Then he lay back, sealing her hands in his, as if there was nothing further about it than that.
“They’ve ... gone.” She whispered it, yet still had to swallow between the words.
“True,” he answered.
“You can let me up now.” Her voice was still breathless sounding, but it was stronger.
“Is anything broken?” he asked.
My facade is. Does that count? she wondered. She shook her head.
“That’s one good thing, I suppose. You’ve ruined my hunt.”
Elise opened her eyes.
“Was that your plan?” he continued.
“I was knocked off my horse. I was nearly trampled. I couldn’t plan that.”
“Everything you do is carefully planned, woman. Everything.”
Elise’s eyes widened on the grass.
“Th
ey’ll probably send a search party for us when the race is won and I’m na’ the man winning it. Then they’ll notice you’re missing, too. This might prove difficult to explain. Of course, that Easton fellow might not care, now that he’s nipped me to the post. Oh, what am I saying? The man is dying of love for you.”
She put a carefully constructed look on her face by arching her brows and shuttering her eyes before she turned back to him. It didn’t help that he hadn’t moved, and she was close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. “You’re reading the wrong cartoons, Your Grace.”
“I heard him with my own ears, last night. I just doona’ understand why you gave me a note making certain I’d be there to hear it. I’ve been puzzling it and still can na’ figure it. Well?”
Elise took a deep breath. “I... have a secret for Your Grace.”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain you have several. I’m just cursed to be on the receiving end of this one.”
She couldn’t stop the movement as her eyes widened, pulling them from the disinterested look she’d attempted.
“Surprised? Doona’ be. You’re fairly transparent. You wanted to make Easton jealous so he’d propose. I understand this courtship game. I doona’ like playing it, as anyone in my old regiment could tell you, but I do know how. You will na’ like it if I start, either. Trust me.”
“I play no game.”
“Right.”
The one word made it sound like she never told the truth. Elise stiffened, and then she knew what was worse, as every bit of her came into contact with every bit of him. Even through her riding habit, gloves, and buttoned boots she felt him. Her heightened senses made certain of it, as hard humps of chest smashed further against her bosom, an entwined conglomeration of ropelike stomach pressed against hers, hard hips supported hers, while legs resembling iron bars were locked so effortlessly about hers it might as well have been a permanent condition.
