Still, sound as the reasoning might be, the very idea of confessing his sins rankled him. He was not accustomed to being held accountable for his actions; he was the Duke of Montford and no man in England dared raise a voice against him. Even his cheeky man-of-affairs knew enough to tread lightly when expressing disapproval. Yet here he was, a peer of the realm, deferring his travel plans so he could bare his soul to a country spinster he would probably never see again—and feeling every bit as guilty as when he’d been caught in a school boy prank at Eton. The world had indeed gone mad and he with it.
He had half a mind to order Edgar to handle the miserable business for him—a coward’s way out, he knew, but smacking of reason just the same. Emily already thought him a snobbish prig; what did it matter if she thought him a coward as well? Besides, Edgar had rare talent for smoothing ruffled feathers—something he, himself, had never needed to cultivate.
Restless, he paced the floor, debating with his conscience the wisdom of this simple solution to his problem. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a mistake it would be to confront her himself. The poor woman would likely have another attack of the vapors from sheer embarrassment. Why, he wondered, had he lost sleep over the matter, when all he had to do was leave the necessary instructions for Edgar and then depart for Northumberland post haste.
Feeling very pleased with himself indeed, Jared stopped his pacing long enough to change from his evening clothes into the rough shirt, britches and well-worn boots he always wore when traveling alone. and on horseback. Out of deference to fastidious valet’s tender sensibilities, he would dispatch him to his London townhouse along with all the elegant clothing so unsuitable for the monastic life at Staffordshire.
He packed his razor and a few other necessities, including a container of that miserable shaving soap his valet insisted on preparing for him, in his leather travel pouch, then crossed to the window to make a final check on the weather.
The usual flurry of morning activity was in progress in the courtyard below. Stable boys rushed to and fro like ants tending their hill—some hauling barrows of manure and stale hay out through the wide flung doors of the vast stable, others carrying bales of fresh hay in.
As Jared watched, the elderly head groom appeared, leading a horse already saddled, and headed toward the mounting block. Jared shook his head in disbelief. Which of his guests was such an avid rider, he would choose to pursue the activity on a morning like this? Couldn’t he hear the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance?
He looked again. Hell and damnation ! He might have known! It was the dapple gray, and there was Emily in her ill-fitting green riding habit and a foolish little hat that would afford her no protection whatsoever from the inclement weather.
What was the fool woman thinking of? Didn’t she know how dangerous it was to ride during a thunderstorm? And what business did his head groom have putting her to mount without permission from either Edgar or himself?
Moments later, after a mad scramble down his private stairwell, he reached the stables on the run. It was too late; Emily had already ridden off. Without even stopping to give the groom the tongue-lashing he deserved, Jared saddled the black stallion himself and took off after her.
He knew instinctively where she was heading—the great oak tree that had been their trysting place—the worst possible place to be if lightning struck. The sentimental little fool probably had some crazy idea of bidding a last good-bye to the scoundrel who had stirred her virginal passions.
He felt another of the painful jabs of conscience that had plagued him ever since he’d had the misfortune to lay eyes on Miss Emily Haliburton. Never again would he make the mistake of fixing his interest, even temporarily, on a woman who was ruled by her emotions. A man might as well commit himself to Bedlam since she would drive him there eventually. Give him a vacuous little debutante any day, or better yet, a jaded aristocrat or demimonde who knew the rules of the game.
A flash of lightning split the stormy sky and the stallion reared in protest. With a firm grip on the reins, Jared calmed the frightened beast and once again urged him forward.
His thoughts returned to the woman he pursued. If the testy little gray had been spooked as well, Emily could have been taken unawares and thrown from the saddle. She could this very minute be lying crumpled and broken in the meadow or the patch of woods that lay between him and the oak tree.
He was not normally given to panic, but a rushing tide of it welled in him now, and his chest heaved with the effort of drawing a breath past the great lump filling his throat.
Anxiously, he studied the landscape ahead but could see no sign of the gray or her rider. What if he had guessed wrong about Emily’s destination? It would be just like her to be heading nowhere in particular, but simply riding willy-nilly, numb with grief. In such a state, she could fail to note her surroundings and become hopelessly lost for hours. At the very least, she was certain to get herself soaked to the skin.
The wind was blowing in earnest by the time the giant oak came into view, whipping the thick branches about as if they were slender twigs. He instantly spotted Emily and expelled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was standing with her forehead pressed against the trunk and God help him, she was tracing her fingers over the ridiculous heart and initials he’d foolishly carved the day he’d bid her farewell. What, he wondered now, could have possessed him to do such a thing?
He dismounted and walked toward her. He might have known she would be crying, and Emily crying was not a pretty sight. He’d seen ladies cry; they sniffed daintily into lace handkerchiefs. He’d witnessed the apocryphal wailing and moaning of his various mistresses when he’d given them their congés. Emily followed neither of these patterns. She emitted great, loud, racking sobs that seemed to be ripped from the very depths of her soul.
He had never heard a woman cry like that; he had certainly never thought to hear one cry like that over him. The sound ripped through his heart and left him feeling both humbled and sickened by the thought that he had unwittingly brought her to this.
He found himself despising the fictitious alter ego he’d so conveniently created, yet envying the scoundrel as well. He seriously doubted any woman would ever cry over Jared, the Eighth Duke of Montford with the same heart-rending passion Emily cried over Jared, the highwayman.
It was obvious she hadn’t heard him approach. He stepped closer, eager to speak yet afraid he might shock her if he did so.
“Emily.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Emily,” he repeated when she failed to answer him.
She turned around and instantly every drop of color leached from her face. Staggering backward until she was pressed against the tree trunk, she stared at him with a look akin to horror. Jared? she mouthed, but no sound came out. She rubbed fiercely at her puffy, tear drenched eyes. “Jared?” she squeaked and rubbed her eyes again. “But it cannot be. Am I hallucinating or are…are you a ghost?”
“Neither, Emily. “He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “Touch me and you’ll see I’m every bit as real and alive as you.”
Emily shrank back against the tree trunk, gripping it with both hands as if to keep herself from falling to her knees. Her eyes widened to two red-rimmed circles of disbelief. “But the squire said… How could he have been mistaken? He said you were lying dead in the road.”
“The highwayman who has been robbing the locals was lying dead in the road,” Jared said gravely. “But I am not that highwayman. I told you as much but you refused to believe me.”
“Dear God, it is true, then. You really are alive.” Emily pressed her hand to heart. “I can scarcely credit it.”
“I am very much alive, little sparrow, and I swear if I’d had any suspicion that witless thatch-gallows would be so careless as to get himself killed, I’d have made you listen to the truth. I would never have let you grieve needlessly. “
Emily swiped the last of her tears from her chee
k. “Of course you wouldn’t. No one could be that cruel. It is all my own fault. I should never have distrusted you.”
Guilt, sharp as a knife, stabbed Jared and every word Emily said twisted the blade a little deeper. Once again she was leaping to a wrong conclusion, assuming she was the one at fault in the sorry business. He swallowed hard.
“You misunderstand me, Emily. The blame is mine and mine alone. There is something I must tell you. Something for which I am deeply sorry.”
“No more sorry than I, I’m sure,” Emily declared. “If only I had listened to you. If only I had trusted you. I have always been much too quick to make judgments, you see. Much too sure of my own opinion. It is a grievous fault and one for which I paid dearly this time.” She pressed her fingers to her trembling lips. “Because when the squire described the dead highwayman, I was so sure and I just couldn’t bear to think…but you’re not…you’re really alive!”
Jared squirmed uneasily. He could never remember feeling guilty about anything before he met Emily, but then Emily made him feel a great many things he had never felt before. He stared at her, wondering what there was about this woman that made him see her differently from all other women. At the moment, her hair was wildly disheveled and hung from beneath her bedraggled little hat in an untidy braid, her face was swollen and blotched from crying, her eyelids red and puffy and she’d evidently been in such a hurry to dress, she had most of the buttons on her riding habit in the wrong buttonholes, which made her look oddly lopsided.
She was the closest thing to a complete disaster Jared had ever seen…and so unbelievably desirable, she took his breath away.
“Hell and damnation,” he said, holding out his arms. He told himself he merely wanted to give her a bit of friendly comfort, but she launched herself at him like a ball from a cannon, and the next thing he knew, they were tangled together, body pressed to body, mouth pressed to mouth.
“Emily, sweet impossible Emily,” he murmured, tasting warm, salty residue of the tears she’d shed for him—yet not really for him. A hot rush of desire swept through him and he tightened his hold, trapping her soft, womanly curves between the unyielding tree trunk and the hard evidence of his own maleness.
She gave a small, startled gasp and color flooded her pale cheeks. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, exploring the secret sweetness behind her parted lips with all the hunger of a man on the brink of starvation. He felt her arms slide around his neck and her hands in his hair, and forgetting everything but this moment and this woman, abandoned himself to the passion she stirred in him—a passion as wild and dangerous as the storm breaking above them.
Lost in Jared’s embrace, Emily was dimly aware she was acting like the worst kind of wanton. She didn’t care. Her joy was too great to contain. He was alive, and if only for a moment, his strong arms were wrapped around her, his warm lips pressed to hers. She had no illusions about the depth of his feelings for her, but wonder of wonders, he had cared enough to seek her out so she would not grieve needlessly.
Tears puddled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, but this time they were tears of gratitude. She had thought never to see him again when last they’d parted and she could live with as long as she knew he was safe, but the thought that this beautiful, vital man could be hunted down and disposed of like a rabid dog had been more than she could bear.
A jagged shaft of lightning flashed across the sky and seconds later a stentorious clap of thunder rumbled all around them. Jared ended their kiss and raised his head toward the heavens. “That was too close for comfort, little love,” he said, tracing the path of a tear with a gentle finger before putting her from him. “And this is not the ideal spot to be in when the gods start tossing their thunderbolts.”
He looked about him. “As I recall, there is a gardeners’ cottage over the next rise that has been empty since old Ben moved into the servants’ quarters at the manor house. We can shelter there until the storm passes. and we can talk. I have much I need to say to you.”
“Talk?” Emily echoed, unable to tear her gaze from the firm lips that had the power to give such unimaginable pleasure.
Jared’s laugh was deep and throaty and his silver eyes held a wicked twinkle. “We need not talk all the time,” he teased, pressing a kiss to his fingertip and planting it on her lips. “And think how much more comfortable we will be in a warm, dry cottage once those dark clouds overhead spill their rain.”
So saying, he lifted her into her saddle and bolted into his own. “It is not far. Follow close behind me and keep your head down. The wind has grown quite fierce,” he instructed and set off in the direction of the nearest hill.
The wind was indeed fierce, but with none of the chill of a winter storm. The little gray kept her nose close to the stallion’s tail and trailed along behind him trustingly. In no time at all, Emily spied the cottage they sought standing just beyond an oak that was almost as tall as the one they had just abandoned. She felt the first drops of rain splash against her cheeks as they came to a stop at the foot of the shallow stairs fronting the small structure.
“Go inside,” Jared said, dismounting and taking her reins after he helped her from the saddle. I’ll tether the horses behind the cottage where they’ll be protected from the worst of the storm.”
He watched Emily climb the stairs and push open the door. Then leading both horses, he started around the corner of the cottage. The wind had reached near gale force and the rain it drove before it, pricked his face like dozens of sharp needles. Unable to see ahead of him, he stumbled over a fallen branch, and the reins slipped from his fingers.
“Good lad,” he praised the stallion, who stood stock still despite his momentary freedom from restraint. “Where would we be if you and the little mare deserted us?”
Jared stared at the reins once again resting in his hand. “Where would we be indeed?” he asked again, slapping the reins against the palm of his other hand.
Stranded in this cottage until someone from the manor came searching for us after the two horses returned to the stable. That is where. And what then? Emily’s virtue would be hopelessly compromised, of course, and I would be honor bound to offer for her despite the disparity of our social station. She may not be nobility, but she is a lady and the niece of a countess, albeit one who according to Edgar’s research had acquired the title under questionable circumstances. Not even a high stickler like Aunt Sophia could fault him for doing his duty as a gentleman.
He pulled his hat farther down on his forehead to keep the driving rain out of his eyes and felt his soggy shirt billow out behind him when the wind whipped through it. Absentmindedly, he reached up to rub the stallion behind its ear, and wondered if he dared drop the reins and give him a sharp slap to send the restless creature back to the stable.
Why not? He wanted Emily Haliburton more than he had ever wanted any other woman he had ever known. She had no idea how passionate she was, nor how deeply sensuous. He longed with all his heart to teach her.
Moreover, he liked and respected her and found her keen mind and sharp tongue so challenging, he could even imagine spending the rest of his life with her—something he could say of no other woman he knew. He would not tire of her as his father had tired of his pretty, addlepated mother, nor drive her into the arms of another man—nor be driven himself to take mistresses and servant girls to satisfy his physical needs. Emily would satisfy all his needs quite adequately.
He had no desire to marry but if marry he must, then Emily Haliburton would be the ideal choice of a wife—in all respects except one. Her blood was as red as that which flowed in the veins of the lowliest cottager who worked his estates, and red blood was not meant to mix with blue—at least not blood as blue as Montford blood. And therein lay the rub, for his sole reason for marrying was to produce strong sons with noble blood in their veins who would be a credit to his ancient line.
Such a marriage would create a scandal in the hallowed ranks of the ton, to say nothing of the upheaval it wou
ld cause in a certain hallowed churchyard when his grandfather and all the Dukes of Montford before him turned over in their graves at such desecration of their noble lineage.
“No, my old friend,” he murmured, running his fingers across the sleek, dripping back of the stallion. “Emily Haliburton is not the woman destined to be my duchess. I have known that from the first moment I saw her and no amount of rationalization will make it otherwise. So I had best get this blasted confession of mine over and done with and be on my way before I create any more heartache for either of us.”
As if to punctuate his statement, a bolt of lightning split the sky above him, sending both horses into panic. The little gray simply made soft, whimpering noises and nuzzled herself against Jared. But the huge stallion reared onto his hind legs, and eyes wild and nostrils flaring, whinnied his terror at the top of his lungs. Jared took a tighter grip on the reins and sidestepped the frantic horse. It was all he could do to hold the reins and avoid the lethal hooves flailing the air.
Which was why he failed to hear the wind-tortured branch directly above his head snap in two before it plunged toward the earth.
CHAPTER TEN
Emily made a dash for the cottage, only to find herself further drenched by the curtain of murky water spilling from the roof as she struggled with the rain-warped door. In desperation, she put her shoulder to the heavy panel, gave a mighty heave and finally managed to pry it open and stumble inside. But the sudden draft of damp air across her back told her that more than the door had given in that last push—namely the overtaxed seams of Lucinda’s riding habit. She gave a deep sigh—something she hadn’t been able to manage since she’d buttoned herself into the constricting garment—and turned to watch Jared.
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