by Rose Gordon
“I believe so,” he said at last. He had a few old nags which were so slow, Kate could move faster than they could.
Together the five went to his stables, and he informed Larson, his head groom, that Celia and Helena would like to learn to ride. Larson ordered a groom to have two horses saddled. “Wot about the lil one?” he asked, glancing down at Kate.
“She's too young,” Marcus said automatically.
“Fer a big hoss, pr'aps. But we gots tat pony,” Larson said with a grin.
“A pony?” Kate shrieked excitedly.
Marcus rolled his eyes. “She's only four. I don't think it's wise.”
Emma touched his arm. “Can we speak for a minute?”
Marcus followed her over to the fence and thought up his defense. He knew what she was about.
“Now, Marcus,” she said, squeezing his arm affectionately. “I don't see the harm in letting her ride.”
“You wouldn't,” he muttered.
She frowned at him. “I know about your accident. Everyone here does. But that horse you were riding wasn't trained, and you were riding much faster than you should have been. I've seen Polly. She's harmless.”
“Polly?”
“The pony,” Emma answered offhandedly. “The point I’m trying to make is that she's not going to get hurt.”
“How do you know?” he countered, pinning her with his stare.
She dropped her gaze. “Caroline and I have let Celia and Helena ride Polly before.”
“When?”
Emma’s eyes came back up, and she suddenly found something just beyond his left shoulder very fascinating. “I don't know,” she admitted at last, hesitation and uncertainly evident from her tone to her stance. “It's been a while. Two years or so. Polly is perfectly harmless.”
He continued to do nothing but openly stare at her. He couldn't hide the agitation that filled his voice when he finally spoke. “Then if you've made this kind of decision before, why did you even bother to ask my permission today?”
“I'm sorry, Marcus. Caroline assured me it was all right.”
Pursing his lips, he said, “Well, it wasn't. In the future, nobody gets on a horse at this estate without my knowledge, understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” she agreed with a mock salute. “But what about Kate riding Polly today?”
He glanced off into the distance for a moment before turning his attention back to her. “That's why you asked about suitable mounts for the others. You'd already planned for Kate to ride Polly,” he stated flatly.
She blushed at his accusation. “I won't deny it.”
Marcus clenched his fists and ground his teeth until his jaw hurt. He unclamped his jaw and blew out a deep, pent-up breath. “She can ride Polly today. But Larson is going to hold those reins, and if something happens to her, Polly's off to the glue factory, Larson's sacked, and I've yet to think of your punishment.”
Grinning and nodding, she said, “Agreed. But no need to think up a suitable punishment for me. Nothing's going to happen.”
“I hope not.” Turning to Larson with a resigned expression, he said, “All right, saddle her up.”
***
Emma glanced at Marcus and bit her lip nervously. Perhaps she should have left Caroline's name out of it when she told him Polly had given the girls rides before. She shook her head. Nothing for it now. She watched as Larson helped Kate mount Polly. The little girl turned back to smile at Marcus with a playful grin only a four-year-old could have. He had to soften at that expression of joy, she thought as she reached over and rubbed his forearm affectionately.
“She'll be all right, Marcus,” Emma whispered. Marcus had extreme reservations where horses were concerned, and rightfully so. But he couldn't be so worried all the time. It wasn't good for him.
He sighed and wrapped his arm around her. “I'd never forgive myself if something happened to one of them.”
“I know.” She pressed closer against him.
“Would you like to go sit over in the shade while we wait?” He gestured to some chaises and a table that were set up in viewing distance of the stable yard.
“I'd love to.” She let him escort her over to the table and frowned down at the table top. “Is this a chess table?” Of course it was a chess table. She may not know how to play, but she did recognize the black and white squares.
“Do you like to play?” He dropped into his chair and stretched a leg out.
“I don't know how,” she admitted, tracing the grooved outline of the chess table with the pad of her index finger.
He slid a drawer in the side of the table out and started picking up the pieces. He handed her the white pieces and set the black pieces in front of him. “Put yours in the same position I put mine. When we're done placing them, I'll show you which two you'll need to switch, then I'll explain the rules.”
She knit her brows. Switch two? She shrugged and put her pieces down to mirror his. When they were done she said, “All right, now what am I switching?”
“Your king and queen.” He pointed to the pieces in question. “Your queen needs to be on her color.” When she furrowed her brows again, he explained, “Since you're playing white, she needs to be on white.”
“Oh, I understand now,” she said, feeling like an imbecile. “Now what?”
He quickly explained how each piece could move and a few of the basic rules. “White always goes first, so you may start, and if you have any questions, just ask.”
She glanced up and waved to the three girls who were making their way around the yard. She placed her fingers on the smooth pawn in front of her queen and moved him two places forward, thinking to free her queen for game play. Apparently, besides the king, the queen was the most valuable piece.
Marcus grinned and moved the pawn that was in front of his queen's bishop forward one.
She frowned. What good did that do? Refusing to dwell on it, she moved her queen to rest on the white square right behind her pawn. There. Now her queen was out in a position to move side to side or diagonally to take any of his pieces she wanted to!
In one second, her joy ended when he grabbed his bishop and slid it across the board. “Check,” he said, nudging her foot with his under the table.
“Check?” she echoed. “How can you already have cornered my king?”
He used his finger to show her the line that went straight from where his bishop sat on a black square on the side of the board to her king.
“Drat,” she said. “I can move my queen back a space and he'll still be safe, right?”
“You could,” he acknowledged.
Without another thought, she moved her queen back once space, then watched completely dumbfounded when he slid his bishop from the side to capture her queen, informing her she was once again in check. She sighed. “This isn't looking very good for me.”
“No, it's not. But I'll give you a hint—”
“No, thank you,” she said, cutting him off and using her bishop to capture his.
He grinned. “Very good.”
Five minutes later, Marcus set his queen down and grinned at her. “Checkmate.”
“I have no idea why Caroline likes this so much,” she muttered in defeat.
“It's fun if you know how to play. You're just learning. One day, you'll think it's fun.”
“I doubt it,” she argued, glancing to the girls who appeared to be having too much fun to stop.
Marcus picked up the pieces and put them back into the drawer. Inside the drawer were thick, circular chunks of rocks she recognized as the pieces for draughts. “Would you like to play?”
“Not really.” Board games never seemed to end in her favor.
“What if you could win?” he asked, an unusual gleam in his eyes.
She waved her hand through the air. “Don't bother. It can't be any more fun for you to play against someone you can so easily beat than it is for me to play against someone so much more advanced than I am.” She was speaking mainly about
her lack of skill at chess, but her skill at draughts was just as bad.
“You make a good point. However, I was going to suggest we play a little differently.” He winked at her.
“What did you have in mind?”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Before I tell you, you have to either agree to play or not.”
A shiver skated down her spine at the expression on his face. “All right, Lord Sinclair, I'm game. What are the rules?”
“A boon,” he said simply, placing his twelve pieces down on the black squares.
“You mean, for every time you capture one of my pieces, you get to request a favor from me?” she asked. She was certain to get the bad end of this arrangement.
“No. Quite the opposite, actually. If I capture your piece, you get to ask me for a favor. And if you capture one of mine, I get to ask a favor of you.”
A sly smile took her lips. “You're scheming. I just know it. All right, we'll play.”
“Excellent. You go first.” He grinned and stretched his legs out under the table, his ankle brushing hers.
Startled, she looked up at him and couldn't decide if he'd done it on purpose or not. She inwardly shrugged off the notion and moved one of her front pieces forward.
Still leaning back in his chair, Marcus reached a hand out and mirrored her move.
She frowned. What was he about? She reached her fingers forward to move a different draught.
He grinned at her and moved his draught in a way that gave her an easy jump without leaving her piece in a position to be jumped in return.
Emma cocked her head to the side and looked at him curiously. He was definitely planning something. Moving her piece to jump his, she glanced up at him and asked, “Now what would you like me to do?”
“A kiss.”
Her eyes grew round. “But we're in public,” she protested weakly. She wanted to kiss him. Badly. But not in front of others.
“You took my draught, Emma. You owe me.”
“I know,” she admitted with a sigh. She leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek.
He grinned. “I'll accept that. My move.” He rested his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek against his hand, studying the board. Under the table, the side of his foot slowly brushed the side of Emma's calf. “Hmm, I just don't know where to go,” he drawled, trailing his foot all the way to her knee.
“Marcus,” she warned. “People can see.”
He flickered a glance to the stable yard. “They're too busy to notice.”
Emma looked over to the girls and the grooms. They did look busy. She turned her gaze back to Marcus and tried to appear as casual as possible while she stared at him. His foot on her calf was driving her to a nervous distraction, and the more he continued to touch her thus, the more she wanted to squirm in her seat. She blew out a breath and a devious thought entered her mind.
Keeping her left leg in place where he could continue to brush his foot against it without realizing what was going to happen, she kicked off her slipper and raised her right foot slowly into the air until it connected with Marcus’ knee.
Marcus jumped slightly and his eyes shot to hers. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” She twisted one of her blonde locks around her fingers in a horrible display of mock tedium.
“Well, stop it.”
She smiled at him and kept her foot resting on his knee. A minute later, he put his finger on one of his pieces, ready to move it. Catching him unaware, she slid her foot forward along the inside of his thigh.
He let go of the piece mid-slide and grabbed hold of her foot. “Emma,” he warned. His eyes looked different, but she couldn't decide how.
“Yes?” she asked, wiggling her toes under his grip.
“I've warned you.”
She shrugged. “I know. I chose not to heed it.”
“Typical,” he muttered. “Now, move your foot, so I can take my move.”
“I don't think so,” she said airily, bringing her left foot up to rest on his other thigh.
His head jerked up from where it had been resting on his hand and his other hand went down to grab her second foot. “I can't play like this.”
She wasn't sure if he was talking about with having her feet on the inside of his thighs, or because his hands were occupied holding her feet. “Let go of one of my feet then,” she suggested with a sweet smile.
He groaned. “That will not be happening.”
“Suit yourself.” She pushed her foot against his strong hold.
His grip tightened on her feet, not hurting them, but firm enough she wasn't able to move her feet further up to her goal.
She frowned at him. “Are you going to move your piece? I don't believe this current position is very fitting for a military man,” she teased, glancing pointedly at the piece that was occupying the corners of four different squares, because Marcus had stopped moving it in order to grab her wandering foot.
“You can move it for me. I want him to be at B-5, please.”
“Excuse me, what?” She frowned at him. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
He sighed. “Sorry, I forgot. That was a chess term.” He rolled his eyes and frowned. “You know where I want him, Emma. Just move him, please.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Why not?”
“First, I know how sensitive you are about people touching your game pieces while you're playing,” she said sweetly. “Second, I'm not going to do all the work in our game.”
He swore under his breath. “You'll never forget that, will you?”
“No. I shall go to my grave forever remembering how angry you got with me when I was eight and straightened one of the pins before you rolled your ball in skittles. However, to be fair, your ball was nowhere near that pin. You wouldn't have knocked it over whether I'd touched it or not,” she informed him primly.
“Perhaps. But all the same, you distracted me.”
Emma hid her grin at the memory of how red his face had gotten when he lost that day. “All right, I take full responsibility for your losing skittles that day. Now, would you please move your piece?”
He scowled. Releasing her foot and squeezing his thighs together as quickly as he could, he finished pushing his draught to the desired square.
“Not fast enough,” Emma taunted, pushing her foot closer to his waist.
“You do know they can see you?” Marcus used his head to point in the direction of the stable yard while he moved his piece.
She shrugged. “As you said, they're too busy having fun to notice a couple of dullards like us.”
Marcus gritted his teeth and grabbed her wayward foot. “Move your piece.”
Right. She'd forgotten it was her turn. Carelessly, she moved a piece and flashed him a smile. Her interest in the game on top of the table was nothing in comparison to the game going on under the table.
Frowning, Marcus looked at the board. “Did you even pay attention to where you were moving?”
“No.” She smiled and gently rubbed both of her heels against the inside of his muscled thighs.
“Clearly,” he replied with a snort. He moved another piece. Emma didn't know where; she was too busy pushing her foot all the way up until her toes rested against his groin. “You’d better be careful.” His low, deep voice mixed with his serious expression gave her pause.
“Don't worry; I know what I'm doing.” After having read Lady Bird's memoir, she had a very good idea of exactly what she was doing, and she had every intention of using her newfound knowledge to torment him as much as he tormented her in her dreams.
“I don't think you do.” His voice was still unusually low and husky. “Now, move.”
“Yes, my lord.” She pressed her foot more firmly against his undeniable arousal, and moved her foot slowly up and down, once, twice. “I moved. Now it's your turn,” she said, smiling coyly.
“You little minx,” he
said raggedly. He leaned forward and reached under the table as his eyes looked over the board. A second later, he leaned back in the chair and being just as careless as she had been earlier, he thoughtlessly pushed one of his pieces to a vacant square.
She knit her brows. Did she really have to move again? She hadn't even moved a piece last time. She leaned forward and moved one of her currently unimportant pieces forward. What did she care if she won or lost? She just wanted to prolong the game as long as possible, and making inane moves was the best way to do that.
“My turn.”
Slightly disappointed that Marcus’ voice had returned to normal, she sat back and waited for him to make his move while using the side of her foot to lightly stroke his erection.
Suddenly, something touched the insides of both of her thighs. Her eyes jerked to Marcus, and she clamped her legs together. “What are you doing?”
“Moving.” The roguish grin he wore left no doubt that he wasn't going to stop moving his foot between her legs until he reached the top.
“Stop,” she said with a squeak. “You can't put your foot up my skirt.”
“Why not?”
“Because it's not proper.”
He laughed. “And it's proper for you to have your feet on my privates?”
A blush stained her cheeks and she started to remove her feet. His hands grabbed her feet and stopped their descent.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I like them there,” he admitted. “Now, leave them and I'll return the favor.”
Her eyes grew wide. “This isn't a good idea.”
“No,” he agreed. “It's an excellent idea.”
A slightly shocked, and certainly unladylike, noise escaped Emma's mouth when Marcus’ foot reached its intended destination. “Marcus,” she began, her voice unusually high-pitched, “you must stop.”
He chuckled, presumably at the way her voice squeaked at the word stop. “I don't think so. You tortured me. Now, I'm going to do the same to you. It's only fair.”
Since when had Marcus given a fig about being fair? “This is definitely not fair,” she protested as his foot pressed boldly against her tender flesh, only the thin layers of his stockings and her drawers separating them. Even after reading that book, she hadn’t realized how sensitive and pleasurable intimate touching could be for a woman.
