‘Whether it’s true or not, I—I would not admit something of such a personal nature to you.’
‘Miss Mortimer, as a woman you are truly unique.’
Jane looked at him warily. ‘You are not trying to seduce me, are you, Lord Lansbury?’
‘Would you allow me to seduce you, Miss Mortimer?’
In spite of the fact that his eyes were touching her like she had never been touched before, Jane gave him a defiant look. ‘Now you’re mocking me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. You are far too clever to mock.’
How could Jane be angry with him when he smiled that engaging smile? It was no longer possible. Her lips curved in a smile of her own. ‘And you really are a complete rogue, Lord Lansbury, arrogant and overbearing.’
He grinned. ‘I admit it. What I need is an attractive, patient and extremely tolerant young woman to take me in hand, to make me see the error of my ways and reform me.’
‘Then I wish you luck. Intolerance and impatience have always been two of my failings, but there must be a female somewhere who will fall for a silken tongue and be willing to expend so much energy, time and effort on such an unenviable task.’
‘Then I take it you would not be willing to accompany me on my ride if I asked you to?’
Jane stared at him with amazement. ‘Ride? You are asking me to ride? A horse?’
‘What else?’ He grinned. ‘We are fresh out of camels.’
‘Why—I—you are jesting.’
‘No. I am being perfectly serious. I recall you saying how you would ride like the wind. Octavia won’t be back for hours. Would you like to join me? Although I cannot promise that it will be as exciting as what you’re used to.’
The temptation to be back on a horse was too tempting for Jane to resist. ‘Why—I—I’d love to. But—it looks like rain.’
Christopher glanced out of the window. Dark clouds were gathering, but he refused to be put off.
‘Do you only ride in fine weather?’
‘No, but I will have to change.’
‘I’m in no hurry. Come to the stables when you’re ready.’
Something in his heart moved and softened as he watched her scamper off in child-like glee before going outside and heading for the stables. Where she was concerned, nothing made sense, for nothing could explain why he was beginning to enjoy being alone with her.
He thought she was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was different, a phenomenon. He sensed a goodness in her, something special, sensitive—something worth pursuing. There was also something untapped inside her that not even she was aware of—passion buried deep. What would happen if she allowed it all to come out?
Chapter Eight
Christopher looked up from tightening the girth on a tall black stallion and noted that Miss Mortimer entered the stable yard with a spring in her step. She wore a tweed jacket over a silk shirt and a hat clamped to her head, her hair secured at her nape by a green ribbon. Stable lads were going about their work and a groom was leading a rather fine, tall chestnut mare with a black mane out of one of the stalls.
Drawn to the mare, she crossed the yard and ran her gloved hand over its coat, which rippled like satin. The horse whinnied and nuzzled her with affection, blowing warm breath on to her cheek.
‘What a splendid animal,’ she murmured when Lord Lansbury came to stand beside her. Eyes aglow, she looked at him with unconcealed excitement. ‘Please say I can ride her?’
‘If you like.’
His gaze swept over her. Her skirt was long trained and full and, as if she was about to spring on the back of the horse, she bundled the skirt up to her knees and, horror of horrors, showing beneath it were a pair of buff-coloured trousers and glossy riding boots. His initial look was one of shock, which slowly turned to open admiration.
‘I see you’ve come prepared.’
‘Of course. It’s so rare for me to get a chance to ride these days that I don’t want to spoil it with any restrictions whatsoever. Tell me about the horse.’
‘She’s highly strung and not easy to handle—she’ll also bite you as soon as look at you. Her name’s Duchess, by the way.’
‘She won’t bite me—will you, Duchess?’ Jane whispered, rubbing her nose. ‘I’m not afraid of her. I’m sure we’ll get on very well.’ She turned to the groom. ‘Saddle her for me, will you? And I don’t ride side saddle,’ she was quick to add. Having already had a glimpse of the trousers beneath her skirt, he gave her an appalled look. ‘I love to ride, but that saddle will take all the pleasure out of it. I consider it a serious handicap. How on earth can anyone be expected to communicate with the horse on such a contraption—let alone stay on! I shall probably become unseated at the first obstacle and break my neck—which I am sure will fill Lord Lansbury with morbid delight.’
‘Not at all,’ he said, laughing at her description of the side saddle. ‘Although I must point out that if anyone should see you, you will be ostracised from society before you’ve had the chance to enter it.’
Running her hand over Duchess’s glossy flank, Jane tossed her head, indifferent to his words. ‘That doesn’t concern me in the slightest.’
‘No.’ He chuckled, admiring the way she defied convention and cast decorum to the four winds. ‘I did not imagine for one moment that it would.’
‘What would you have me do, Lord Lansbury?’ the groom asked, certain his lordship would not give his permission for such an outrageous breach of protocol.
Seeing Miss Mortimer was determined, and that it was plain she was comfortable with the horse, Christopher laughed and nodded. ‘Do as the lady says, Robert. I’m sure we don’t have to worry about Miss Mortimer falling off.’
With the appropriate saddle and eager to be off, Jane turned to a grinning Lord Lansbury. ‘Help me up, if you please.
‘My pleasure.’
Bowing his head to the inevitable, he linked his hands to receive the well-polished boot of his companion. She was up in a flash, her feet feeling for the stirrups.
* * *
When they entered the park the wind had risen and the odd spot of rain brushed their faces. Christopher knew that Miss Mortimer was aware that she had created a stir in the stables and cared little. He sensed that the need to ride and to taste complete freedom for a little while was so intense inside her that she refused to let anything get in the way of her ride. She had told him that she hadn’t been in the saddle for a long time and it was clear that she intended to make the most of it.
The mare was fresh, her spirits high. Christopher set an easy pace. He observed that his companion had her hands full for the first five minutes. When the mare had settled down, she bent and whispered words of encouragement in the horse’s ear. Then, after Jane put her heels to the glossy flanks, Duchess, nostrils flared wide, swiftly exploded under her and she was gone in a blur. Sure-footed, the horse moved like a dream as they fairly flew over the ground. Miss Mortimer’s skirts ballooned out, her eyes a radiant deep violet in her poppy-cheeked face, her grin wide and triumphant.
Christopher kept pace with her, aware of the black clouds gathering pace and the rain beginning to fall. He kept his eyes on Miss Mortimer as she rode the courageous Duchess hard and as no lady should, bringing a gleam of admiration to his eyes. She was having a wonderful time, tearing over the terrain at such a pace. Her hair came loose from its confinement, her ribbon flying up and away like a bright green kite. She cleared a hedge, which had been a gamble even for Christopher—but she had taken it with ease.
Christopher had not entirely believed her when he had heard her telling Octavia that she could ride like the wind, but he saw for himself that not only could she ride, but she could ride as well as himself. He couldn’t think of many men who could have taken that hedge, let alone a woman. When she turned her head and looked
at him he could not take his eyes off her. Never had he seen her so animated, so aroused. There was a passion in her so potent that it seemed to alter the very atmosphere of the ride. In that moment he thought she was the most striking-looking woman he had ever seen in his life. Raising his crop to her in congratulation, he was fascinated by this extraordinary young woman.
Cresting a hill, they slowed to a canter. Exhilarated by the ride, Jane came to a halt, Christopher drawing rein beside her. He smiled broadly, his white teeth gleaming from between his parted lips.
‘Well, young lady, you are full of surprises. If my eyes do not deceive me, there is not much anyone can teach you about a horse. One can tell a born rider by watching the way he...’ he paused and smiled ‘...or she, performs in the saddle.’
Seeing the way Lord Lansbury controlled his animal effortlessly, without thought, as fluidly and as softly as the horse himself moved, Jane was thinking the same thing about him. She returned his smile and for a moment there seemed to be only the two of them in the whole world.
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment—although Duchess is a splendid horse.’
Suddenly the wind rose and whipped about them. Christopher looked up at the sky, already half-drenched by the rain. ‘We have ridden further than I intended. We’ll soon be drenched to the skin.’ Reaching for his cape rolled up at the back of his saddle, he draped it about her shoulders. With his crop he pointed to the temple that crested the hill overlooking the lake. ‘Ride for the temple. We’ll take shelter there until the rain lessens. Stay close to me,’ he shouted above the wind. ‘If we hurry, we’ll soon have a roof over our heads.’
The rain, which they had hoped would refrain from falling heavier until they reached their destination, offered them no such respite. The heavens opened, water slanting down out of a sky the colour of pewter. Had he been alone Christopher might have carried on the two miles or so to Chalfont, but it was evident to him that Miss Mortimer was saturated beneath the cape and no doubt chilled to the bone.
Reaching their destination, they dismounted and Christopher tethered the horses to a tree, the stout branches heavy with foliage offering them some degree of shelter.
Inside the folly Jane stared around her. It was not a large structure, but it was dry and surprisingly clean.
‘At least we’re out of the rain,’ Christopher said, removing his wet jacket.
Jane pulled off the shrouding cape, shook it out and draped it on one of the stone benches built into the wall before removing her jacket.
Looking at his companion, Christopher lowered his gaze and his smile faded. Her clothes, soaking wet, clung to her in a most provocative way and he took a moment to appreciate the shapely figure beneath.
‘Look at you. You’re soaking wet—and cold, I expect.’
‘A little.’ She tried to remove her gloves, but they were plastered to her hands.
‘Here, let me,’ Christopher murmured, taking hold of her hands with a gentleness Jane had not expected of him. Freeing them from their confinement as if they were so fragile they would break, he put her gloves aside and enfolded her small hands in his own and tried to rub the circulation back into her frozen veins.
Jane looked at those hands holding hers and wondered how a man’s hands could be both strong and gentle at the same time.
With his head bent and intent on his task, Christopher raised her hands to his lips, holding them there in the hope that the warmth from his mouth would help with the thaw, leisurely caressing the cold flesh with his lips.
Wholly dependent on him for the moment, Jane watched in rapt amazement. A pulsating heat began to throb in her hands, spreading outwards, and she felt shooting, tingling sensations travelling to the tips of her fingers. With her hands still enfolded in his, Christopher’s gaze swept upwards and regarded her in silence, and for a moment his eyes held hers with penetrating intensity.
The mysterious depths were as enigmatic as they were silently challenging and unexpectedly Jane felt an answering response. She could feel tension rising inside her—a thick, strange sort of tension she’d never felt in her life before. It unfolded within, warm and slow, but it also strengthened and deepened with each second that passed. The darkening in his eyes warned her that he was aware of that brief response and his eyes narrowed, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. No words were spoken, but in the pale light of the folly their eyes locked, each probing and searching the innermost thoughts of the other.
When she would have pulled her hands free Christopher refused to relinquish his hold. Taking one hand in each of his own, he placed them against his cheek.
‘Are they warmer now?’
Her lips trembled into a smile of thanks as she pulled her hands free and took a step away from him. ‘Much warmer, thank you.’
‘I apologise for the rain,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘I wasn’t expecting it.’
Jane laughed, removing her sodden hat and shaking her hair loose of its ribbon. ‘I don’t mind. Having lived all my life in countries with a tropical climate, in deserts and in heat and drought where rainfall is minimal and water precious, the English rain is quite wonderful,’ she said, closing her eyes and running her tongue over her lips as if to savour the taste of the rain.
Christopher could not move. He could only stare at the upward curve of her mouth and the exposed creamy skin of her neck, his body taut. His smile faded slowly as he looked at her and as it did he wondered if right now her heart was pounding as hard as his, if her body had the same burning ache as his and her mind the same torrid thoughts.
‘I’ve never been to a desert so I wouldn’t know,’ he murmured. Lust hit him with such unexpected force that he stood rooted to the spot. She opened her eyes. He felt certain his thoughts must be written on his face, but she only smiled at him, seemingly unaware.
‘It can be most unpleasant. The sand gets into your eyes and sticks to the skin and gets into everything. There isn’t even enough water to wash it away. I must say I don’t miss it.’ She looked around the folly. Stone built, it was square and had mullioned windows on three sides. ‘What a strange place this is. Why was it built?’
‘For no particular reason,’ he replied, his eyes following her as she went to the glassless window overlooking the lake, seeing how her wet skirts were plastered to her legs.
And her legs. Dear Lord! How long they were.
‘The second Earl of Lansbury had an interest in building follies all over the estate,’ he went on, trying to focus on what she had asked him and not dwell on the outline of her lithe body beneath her skirt as desire began flooding into his own. He tried to stop it, telling himself that what he saw beneath was in his imagination, but that didn’t seem to help. ‘No two are the same. Some, sadly, are in dire need of repair before they fall down. This particular folly was the last to be built and he would come and sit in the doorway and survey the house and lake most days when he was at Chalfont.’
Tearing his gaze away from her legs, he reminded himself that this was Miss Mortimer, with the body of a goddess concealed beneath her wet clothes.
‘I can understand why. The view is lovely,’
Christopher had to agree, but he was not looking out of the window. ‘On a good day, when not obscured by rain.’ He moved to stand beside her and she turned her head and looked up at him. ‘You are a strange young woman, Jane Mortimer,’ he murmured, focusing his eyes on a wisp of hair against her cheek.
Without thinking he reached out and tucked it behind her ear, feeling the velvety softness of her skin against his fingers. She stood still as he ran the tip of his finger down the column of her throat, along the line of her chin to her collar.
‘Suddenly I find myself wanting to know everything there is to know about you—what you are thinking, what you are feeling. You are still very much a mystery to me.’
‘In th
e short time we have known each other I think you’ve learned a great deal about me.’
‘Maybe. I have learned that you are not the prim and proper miss you purported to be at first, that you are learned and much travelled, that you see nothing wrong in offering gentlemen money and that you kiss very well—but I have much to learn.’
‘Lord Lansbury, please!’ Taking a step back, Jane was aghast. ‘Stop it, now,’ she retorted, her face heating. ‘It wasn’t like that and you know it.’
‘No? Are you saying you didn’t enjoy kissing me?’
‘No—yes...’
Christopher laughed. He was by no means finished with her. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about it. It was just a kiss and harmless enough.’
‘Kissing is never harmless,’ she shot back. ‘It can lead to...’
Christopher folded his arms across his chest and looked at her with one raised eyebrow, waiting for her to finish.
She pressed her lips together and turned to look out of the window once more. ‘It can lead to all sorts of things,’ she finally said.
‘How many times have you been kissed, Miss Mortimer?’
She didn’t answer. He studied her rigid back, thinking of their kiss, remembering the moment when he had first touched her lips. He wondered if she had ever been kissed in her life before that. Suddenly, he wanted an answer to his question. He wanted it badly. ‘How many?’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘And I don’t think you had been kissed before I kissed you. Does it bother you?’
‘In a way,’ she confessed. ‘But wherever we were I was always surrounded by foreigners and older men who accompanied us on the expeditions. Sometimes they were accompanied by their wives.’
‘Were they not accompanied by their children?’
‘Only the very young children who needed looking after. The older boys and girls were sent away to schools in England to further their education.’
‘Is that what you wanted? To go to school in England?’
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