The Society Catch (Harlequin Historical)

by Allen, Louise

‘Plenty of soap… Ned! Run to the kitchens and ask Cook to put water on the range. Well, sir, are you going to take her head, or shall I?’

  Unaware of the drama unfolding in the stables, Joanna finished breakfast with Hebe, who announced that she was going along to the housekeeper’s room to discuss the deplorable state of the household linen. ‘What are you going to do, dear?’

  ‘I thought I would take my sketch book and go down to the south paddock to try my hand at drawing the horses. I flatter myself that I can draw a bowl of fruit or a landscape with tolerable ease, but I have never tried to draw an animal.’

  ‘Are you sure it is not that you want to have a look at that little mare Giles was so pleased about at dinner last night?’ Hebe teased.

  ‘Well…of course, Moonstone is lovely, and Giles is most kind to let me ride her, but the new mare sounds very spirited.’

  Hebe laughed. ‘Well, try and see if you can wheedle him into letting you try her this evening. If he has another successful day, he will be in a good mood.’

  Joanna found her sketch book in the drawer where she had left it on her last visit to Tasborough, picked up a wide straw hat by its almond-green ribbons and ran lightly down the stairs without bothering to set it on her dark hair. Despite everything she could not but feel happy this morning. The sun was shining, Giles seemed content with the way his plans were progressing and she had put on the most becoming of her new muslin gowns. The skirts were simple white fabric with a subtle figuring of white rose buds in the weave. The bodice was the same almond green as her hat ribbons, with puff sleeves and a narrow satin trim around the neck.

  Humming quietly to herself and letting her mind wander dangerously towards daydreams of what Giles would think when he saw such a fetching ensemble, Joanna reached the bottom of the front steps and turned away across the lawn towards the corner of the complex of stableyards and the way to the paddocks. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a curricle turn between the high brick pillars of the front gate far off down the drive, but ignored it. A visitor for Alex and Hebe, no doubt.

  She reached the entrance to a little yard, unused except for hay and feed storage, and would have walked past but for a pitiful mew from inside. One lost kitten, its eyes just open and its legs scarcely under control, was staggering across the cobbles, squeaking its distress.

  ‘Oh, you poor little thing! Where’s your mother?’ Joanna dropped hat and book on to a low wall and went to pick up the protesting scrap of fur which immediately attempted to suck her finger.

  ‘What a charming picture,’ a voice remarked from the entrance to the yard. ‘Quite the subject for a sentimental print.’

  ‘Rufus!’ It was Lord Clifton. His driving coat was carelessly open, he carried his gloves in one hand and, as she stared at him, he swept his hat from his blond head and made her an elegant bow. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Have you come to visit Lord Tasborough?’

  ‘Joanna, my dear, how low you rate your own attraction. I am here to see you, of course, and to continue the discussions we were having about our impending nuptials before you were so inconveniently summoned to your cousin’s bedside. That is the excuse your parents are putting out, is it not? I would not like to get it wrong and cause embarrassment. It is always so difficult to recall in these cases what the story is. Chicken pox? The needs of an aged aunt? How convenient to have a cousin in the country.’

  He strolled towards her as he spoke and Joanna backed away, still clutching the kitten which sank needle claws into her unfeeling hand. ‘I do not know what you mean. My cousin asked for me to stay, and I am most certainly not going to discuss her health with you. As for our nuptials, I have told you before, I would not marry you if you were the last man…’

  ‘On earth, yes, I remember.’ His eyes glittered blue. Joanna backed away further then stumbled as her foot found the central drain. She regained her balance, but the few seconds brought him closer. ‘But, you see, your parents do want you to marry me, and beside my title and my fortune I have the other inestimable advantage in their eyes of being willing to marry you despite whatever havey-cavey activities you have been up to the past few weeks.’

  ‘If that is what you think of me, I wonder that you care to offer for me.’ Joanna continued to back, her eyes never leaving his face. She had been so right to mistrust him on sight, she thought, desperately racking her brains to recall whether this yard was entirely enclosed or whether there was a gate through into one of the others. But the sapphire gaze held hers like a stoat with a rabbit and she could not turn her head to look.

  ‘As I told you before, Joanna, I desire you. You are very beautiful: a collector’s piece. And somehow, whatever scrape you have got yourself into, I think you are untouched. Ah, yes, you blush so prettily.’

  Another man for whom a virgin was a prerequisite, Joanna thought wildly. ‘Perhaps, perhaps not,’ she said as casually as she could and saw his eyes narrow.

  ‘I would not joke about it if I were you, Joanna. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the list of your advantages. Respectable breeding, lovely manners when you try and, of course, it would please my mama to have me marry her old friend’s daughter.’

  She backed into something solid. Looking down, she realised it was the mounting block. Carefully she set the complaining kitten down on the bottom step and straightened up. To either side the walls were uninterrupted by anything but loose-box doors standing open to reveal bales of hay or sacks of feed. No escape that way.

  ‘How did you know I was here now?’

  ‘Why, Mrs Fulgrave told me, of course.’ He tossed his gloves onto the mounting block. ‘Now, come here, Joanna, let me kiss you and we will discuss plans for our honeymoon. Italy I thought. You will like Italy.’

  Mama! How could you? Joanna realised with a burning sense of hurt just why the lovely new clothes had been sent. And she had fallen neatly into the trap by putting on the most becoming gown that morning. Her mother simply could not know what a hateful man her best friend’s son had become or she would never have schemed for this meeting.

  ‘Rufus, go away. I have absolutely no intention—’ He took one stride forwards and seized her, his hands clamping hard on her upper arms as he jerked her towards him.

  ‘No! Stop it! Giles!’ The last word was wrenched out of her as Rufus pulled her hard against his chest and fastened his mouth on hers. Joanna struggled wildly, but the folds of his caped riding coat flapped around her, confusing her, his hands were too strong and then the sensation of his open mouth crushing her lips against his was too overwhelming. She was vaguely aware of being pushed backwards, of her heel catching painfully on a threshold and the sense of surrounding walls, then all of her being was concentrated on struggling against the hands that were on her body and the mouth that seemed intent on dragging the breath from her until she surrendered.

  Giles exhaled deeply and leaned back against the cobwebbed stable wall. ‘We’ve done it, Hickling!’ The groom grinned back, his face as sweat-begrimed as the Colonel’s. At their feet a filly foal lay in a wet jumble of legs, the mare already licking and nuzzling it, urging it to stand on its impossibly long limbs for its first suck. Giles dragged his wrist across his forehead and stopped as the groom exclaimed, ‘Don’t do that, sir! You’re a right mess as it is.’

  Giles looked down at his filthy torso and then across at Hickling. ‘Do I look as bad as you?’

  ‘Worse, Colonel. Better be putting yourself under the yard pump, if I can be so bold. Won’t be doing for any of the ladies to be seeing you in that state, sir.’

  Giles reached for his shirt, thought better of it and opened the half-door. ‘Can you manage now, Hickling?’

  ‘Aye, sir, thank you. I’ll find you a bit of towel, sir.’

  Giles stretched and strolled across to the pump. The sun was hot on his bare back and the sudden shock of cold well water made him gasp as he stuck his head and upper body under the flow. He emerged running wet with his hair sleeked down dark and scrubbed his head vigorously
with the piece of rough linen the groom handed him.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll send my valet over to pick up my clothes, if he ever speaks to me again once he’s seen these leathers.’ Giles strolled out of the main yard, intending to lean on the paddock rails and admire his new bloodstock. Alex would be pleased with his new addition, and soon the Gregory stables would be full of mares carrying the new lines he hoped to breed.

  There was a sound, abruptly cut off from further down the stable range. He raised his head, suddenly alert.

  ‘Giles!’

  Joanna wondered hazily how much longer she could struggle, and even if there was any point. Some instinct told her that Rufus was kissing her more out of frustration and anger than desire or even lust. She had spurned him, rejected him and his normally cold and calculating collector’s instinct had turned to thwarted fury. If she stopped resisting, he would probably let her go: she had no real fear he was about to rape her. But every nerve in her body refused to submit to him or to let him think even for a moment that he could overcome her.

  The violence with which he was wrenched from her sent her staggering against the wall. Dazedly she stared at the figure that appeared to fill the doorway. A figure out of some Norse legend: a tall, hard-muscled, half-naked warrior, the light gleaming off wet shoulders, his face and chest in shadow.

  Rufus twisted in the man’s grip on his collar then managed to fight his way out of his long coat to stand, fists raised defensively in front of him. There was nowhere else to go, his assailant seemed to block out the light. The man made no move to raise his own hands or to ward off any attack from Lord Clifton. There was contempt in the lack of care he took to watch his opponent as he shifted his attention to search the shadows until he could see Joanna, her dress pale against the brick walls.

  Giles. She spread her hands against the rough surface to stay upright. She was not going to let herself collapse in front of him.

  ‘How dare you!’ Joanna felt a slight flicker of admiration for Rufus that he could summon up speech in the face of this elemental force. ‘How dare you lay a hand on your betters, you clod! I’ll have you dismissed.’

  ‘Be quiet. You will apologise to this lady.’ The deep, quiet voice neither promised nor threatened. But Joanna saw Rufus take a step back.

  ‘Who…I thought you were a groom…you are mistaken…’

  ‘I told you to be quiet.’ Now Joanna could hear the anger beating under Giles’s unnaturally calm voice. ‘Now, apologise.’

  ‘I’ll be damned if I do!’ Rufus blustered. ‘She led me on, the little hussy. Lures me in here, then screams the place down when I try and take a little kiss…’

  The punch was so hard and so fast that Rufus did not even appear to see it coming. It lifted him off his feet and sent him across the box to land sprawled over a hay bale. As he lay there gasping, Giles hauled him to his feet by his collar and spun him round to face Joanna.

  ‘Apologise or I will fetch a horse whip to you.’

  She met Rufus’s unfocused gaze with contemptuous green eyes.

  ‘I…I’m sorry, Joanna—’ He broke off gasping as Giles twisted his grip tighter. ‘Miss Fulgrave. I misunderstood…I will not trouble you again.’

  She closed her eyes and heard the sounds of Rufus being summarily propelled out of the box and across the yard. Footsteps came back, into the loose box, slowed, halted. Her eyes remained closed, all her concentration seemed to be taken by the friction of her fingertips on the rough brick keeping her upright.

  ‘Joanna?’ He seemed to be very close. She could feel the warmth of him in the cool, dim room. What did she look like? Her fingers crept to the torn neck of her gown, then up to her swollen lips. What must he think of her, struggling in the stables with a man? Would he think her a flirt who went too far? Or worse, the hussy Rufus had called her?

  The pain in her fingertips was suddenly worse. She was slipping down, the darkness behind her closed lids was full of lights and she was caught up, pressed hard against a chest that was bare and, puzzlingly, wet.

  Joanna pressed her cheek against the flat planes, sharply aware through the dizziness of the crisp kiss of hair, the surprising softness of male skin over hard muscle. She turned her face a little and the touch of hair on her sensitised lips forced a gasp from her throat.

  The movement stopped. Joanna forced herself to open her eyes a little and discovered that Giles had sat down on a hay bale and had her cradled on his lap, facing the doorway so the light fell on her face. He was studying it with painful intensity, his eyes almost black with the emotion she had seen in them before.

  ‘I am sorry, Giles.’

  ‘You are sorry?’ His brows drew together sharply.

  ‘I was not expecting him. I did not realise how foolish it was not to leave the yard immediately. Mama must have told him I was here. That is why she sent me all those new clothes, I expect,’ she finished, her voice trailing away. ‘I do not think he would have…forced me. I made him angry by rejecting him.’ The expression of sudden fury on his face made her gasp.

  ‘Never, never, apologise for this! Nothing you could have done justifies the way he behaved to you. Nothing.’

  He tightened his arms around her and she flinched as he unwittingly touched the places on her arms where Rufus had gripped her.

  ‘Let me see.’ Shakily Joanna stretched out her arms. Already the bruises were darkening on the tender flesh of her inner arm. ‘Oh, my God.’ Giles closed his arms around her and pulled her gently against him, cradling her so that he did not touch the savage marks, rocking her gently until the pain of his accidental grip ebbed.

  Joanna let her body mould to his, reaching around his body as far as she could until her palms were flat on his back, her breasts crushed against his chest. Her head seemed to fit exactly into the angle of his neck so that against her mouth she could feel the hard pulse beat in his neck. Through the thin muslin of her gown, dampened by his wet skin, she could feel the tantalising tickle of chest hair.

  Her body, roused into fear by Rufus, changed insidiously until it was desire, not fear, that animated her, sent the blood tingling through her veins, started the deep, mysterious, intimate ache inside her. She wanted to arch into his body, twist in his grasp until she could press her lips to his, fall back on to the soft hay with his hard weight on her.

  Her fingers flexed and spread, sensing the matt satin of skin under their pads, exploring the lines of muscle, the hard strength held in check. He was so taut under her palms, so still except for the slow, controlled rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart and a scarcely discernable vibration that seemed to resonate through her like a note of an organ when it has reached the point beyond hearing.

  ‘Giles,’ she murmured against his throat, not knowing whether it was a question or a simple word of thanks. ‘Giles.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Giles.’ He felt rather than heard the soft whisper against his throat. Could he let her go? He doubted it. He thought about opening his arms, releasing her, gently urging her to her feet and helping her inside to Hebe’s care. And could not do it. His arms would not obey, his mind was not ready to exert its will.

  She felt so right, curled trustingly against him, as though some sculptor had made a mould of his body and had created this being to fit within the curve of his arm, the shelter of his torso.

  He thought about that first glimpse over Clifton’s shoulder. Her wide defiant eyes, the bruised mouth, her hands spread against the wall to support her. Those eyes were closed now, he could feel the lashes caressing the tendons of his throat. The slender fingers were spread over his back muscles, unconsciously flexing in a way that made him want to roll her over into the hay, feel her beneath him as he had in the meadow, kiss that bruised delicate mouth into flowering response.

  And he could not. He could do none of those things. She was clinging to him out of shock and reaction and because he was familiar and she trusted him. He had to start thinking again with his head,
not his body, not with that newly awakened part of him, which was still unsure of what it was feeling but which was intent on turning his will from iron into fragile porcelain.

  Joanna felt Giles’s grip relax and his arms open. Unsteadily she sat up away from his chest, letting her hands slide round to his sides to steady herself.

  ‘How do you feel now?’ he asked, his palm gently cupping her chin so he could tip up her face and look into her eyes.

  ‘Much better, honestly. Oh, Giles, thank you so much. And do not be angry again if I say I am sorry, but I am sorry that you have to keep rescuing me.’

  She was relieved at his sudden grin and the fleeting caress of his hand as it left her chin. ‘No need to worry. Dragon slaying is my speciality.’

  Joanna smiled back, then stiffened as her palm felt a sudden change from the hard muscled smoothness of his side. She twisted in his lap and ducked her head to see better. ‘Giles, what a dreadful scar.’

  He bent his head to look. ‘Oh, that. Shell fragment. They leave very untidy wounds.’

  ‘As opposed to what?’ she demanded.

  ‘Lances leave a nice tidy hole, if they don’t drag.’ He lifted her hand to his shoulder. ‘And a sabre—’ he moved her fingertips to the long thin scar running down the back of his right arm ‘—now that can be positively neat.’

  Joanna looked at him aghast. ‘You might have been killed by any of these!’

  ‘I suppose so. But what did you expect a soldier’s body to be like?’

  Joanna knew she was blushing furiously, but she was too intrigued to be distracted. ‘But this sabre cut—how could you defend yourself afterwards? You are right handed.’

  Giles extended both arms, clenching his fists until the muscles stood out. ‘You train until you can fight with either hand.’ He went still as Joanna put her hands on his forearms.

  ‘Do that again!’ Obligingly Giles clenched and unclenched his fists. Joanna gasped, then put her right hand over her own left forearm and made a fist. ‘There is hardly anything there and I always thought I was quite strong.’