Daniel, on the other hand, had been livid. More than livid. She’d thought he was going to explode with rage. To this day he did not let her forget it.
If her brother got wind of what she had done tonight he might finally do as he’d threatened and sell her mares, even though the horses had been gifted to her. Daniel, being young and the baron, was trying to find his feet in his manhood. He was getting very tiresome of late, trying to take over from her and be head of the household. At the moment, he was beginning to think he controlled and owned everything on the estate, including her mares. Being a woman was so unfair.
Tonight’s escapade might just push Daniel past reason. His unconventional, willful sister had again drawn attention to herself and tarnished the de Winter name—that was how Daniel would see it anyway.
She glared up at the one man who had ruined everything. Why couldn’t he have stayed in the house with the other guests? How she hated his calm, smug face. What annoyed her even more was that his male beauty still made her blood gallop through her veins.
“What do you plan to do now?”
Wryly, his lordship answered, “I’ll think of something.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I am well aware of that. If you had money you would have simply asked to buy Caesar’s services instead of stealing them.” He paused and gave her a sensual look that started a flicker of heat smoldering in the pit of her stomach. “As I recall, you had something infinitely more valuable to offer the last time you owed me payment for a service rendered.”
She gasped—their kiss. “How dare you!”
“I dare! How dare you, helping yourself to Caesar? He could have been hurt by your mares. Do you know what you would have owed me then? Being my mistress for a year would not even begin to cover the cost.”
Jamieson stepped forward. “Now see here. Lord or no lord, you will not speak to Miss Kerrich that way.”
Lord Strathmore ignored him. “What do you think your brother will say about all this?”
Her hands came to her hips. “I know what he would say to your suggested payment. It would be pistols at dawn.”
“Are you sure? If you were my sister, I could not wait to get you off my hands. Your brother should have seen you married off years ago. Why are you not at home with babes at breast? No takers for a hoyden like you?”
“For your information, you imbecile, I have had plenty of offers. I’m simply not stupid enough to let any man gain control over me.”
“You certainly need a firm hand.”
“No man I have met is worthy of such a role.”
“Wouldn’t a prudent marriage make tonight’s events redundant ?”
“Not necessarily. I don’t simply want wealth and security. I want it on my own terms. What if a husband objected to my breeding horses?”
“But that’s the point, you silly woman. You wouldn’t have to breed horses. Your husband could do it for you.”
She stamped her foot, sending her cap flying and her hair falling free. “But I want to do this myself.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?” he demanded in shock, as though he had not said those very words countless of times himself.
She lifted her chin, starlight on her hair. “So I can be free.” She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I own nothing but my two horses. The estate I have slaved for eight long years to save goes to Daniel, nothing comes to me. I am at the mercy of a good marriage or a charitable brother. Would you be prepared to let others decide your fate, or would you take responsibility for your own life? Live it the way you want to live it?”
He almost sneered. Did she not realize no one’s life was their own? It belonged to one’s family, and Society’s expectations. There was no such thing as freedom to do as you pleased.
“I don’t intend to answer to anyone but myself,” she declared as if the world would do as she said without extracting any penalties. “I don’t expect you to understand. This is my life and I shall live it how I please.”
“Your life,” he echoed, feeling a pang of jealousy at her words. She stood before him so composed, so in command of her life, even when she was in the wrong. She had a choice in her destiny, which was more than he could say for himself. Since his father’s death he’d controlled nothing. His path was chosen for him until he could find a way to atone for the past. A past he’d not created.
“Let me get this right,” he said, his voice hiding his bubbling anger. “You want to be free but you’d break the law to do so, risking the very freedom you fight so hard for? The logic is missing from your words.”
“I was not supposed to have been caught. Why couldn’t you be inside drinking and eating with the other guests?”
“What and have missed out on this debacle?” He sighed, exasperated.
Jamieson stepped in. “My lord, no harm has been done. Caesar looks a picture of health. Perhaps the baron will simply agree to pay you in installments for the use of your stallion.”
“Or he could agree to give me the foal once it’s born.” “No.” Rheda almost shrieked. “I would rather pay you.”
“But you said you had no money. Are you playing with me? Come Stephen. Let us get Caesar in the stables and speak with the baron.”
In a small voice she begged, “Please, do not tell Daniel.”
The big, six-foot-four, solid wall of muscle folded his arms across his chest, his fingers tapping on his forearm. “Give me one good reason why I should not go back to the house and demand payment from your brother.”
To add to her misery her eyes filled with tears. She did not want to cry in front of this man. In a strangled voice, she yelled, “My mares are mine, but he would sell them to pay you. I could not bear it if they were taken from me.”
Without her horses, the women and children of Deal would be doomed. Deep in her heart, she knew Meg was right. Dark Shadow couldn’t go on forever. She had to succeed with her horses. She couldn’t walk away from the people who needed her help. She’d given them hope. They relied on Dark Shadow for survival. Now she was honor bound to ensure the help did not end.
The night became deadly silent.
A man almost as handsome as Lord Strathmore appeared out of the shadows, giving her a friendly smile. “No one is going to take your horses away from you, Miss Kerrich. I am sure Lord Strathmore is honored to have loaned you Caesar for the night. Is that not right, Rufus?”
Lord Strathmore snarled. “Not bloody likely. Stephen, this is not your business. Stay out of it.”
Not one to miss an opportunity, she batted her eyelashes and pierced Lord Strathmore’s friend with what she hoped was a smoldering smile. “You are quite right, kind sir. No harm has been done. Caesar even enjoyed himself.”
The man Lord Strathmore referred to as Stephen took the hand she held out and pressed a kiss to her fingers.
“Since Lord Strathmore is too rude to offer an introduction, may I present myself? I am Stephen Milton, Marquis of Worthington, at your service, Miss Kerrich. Forgive Rufus’s bad mood. As a gentleman, I’m sure he’ll overlook this misunderstanding.”
She chanced a glance in his direction; his face was blank. A masculine Roman statue. The beauty not disturbed by any flicker of emotion. From his stoic continence, she had no idea how much trouble she was in.
“Stephen, let go of Miss Kerrich’s hand and take Caesar back to the stables. Ask Ted to feed and water him. My stallion shall stay in the stables from now on.” From his tone of voice, everyone present knew he would brook no argument. “You there, what is your name?”
Jamieson looked uneasily at her. She nodded her head. He removed his cap. “Jamieson, your lordship.”
Turning toward the mares, Lord Strathmore said, “Take the mares home. I need to discuss this situation with Miss Kerrich. I will escort her home later.”
Both she and Jamieson voiced their outrage instantly.
Rheda caught her breath. “I am not going anywhere alone with you.” And she turned to walk to
her mares.
The nerve of the man. He was not her lord and master. She answered to no man except, on occasion, her brother. The occasions becoming too regular for her own peace of mind. But that was different. Daniel was her brother.
“Then I shall have Lord Worthington fetch your brother.”
His cold voice and impersonal tone halted her progress. His supreme arrogance vexed her.
She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to flow. They dried up as her anger grew. Rage welled up inside until her whole body trembled. He had her cornered. He knew she was at his mercy, and he would extract every ounce of payment.
She had let him know her one weakness—her horses.
Pivoting toward him she knew it would be useless to plead. The man was made of stone when it came to getting what he wanted. She knew why he wanted to talk with her alone. He did not want to seduce her, as Jamieson thought. He wanted information. Her moment of reckoning had arrived. He would use her love for the two mares against her and make her bend to his will.
Rheda’s insides turned to ice. Her fear was as real as the stars above. She quaked right down to the soles of her brother’s old boots. She did not fear being physically hurt; in fact that would be a blessing. Her fear went much deeper. She was going to have to choose—Dark Shadow or her dream of running her own horse stud. The villagers needed one or the other to survive.
Her fingers drummed on her thigh. Or did she?
He was a rake. He loved women. Would her charms be enough to sidetrack the man? She knew he found her desirable. With heat flooding her veins, she remembered the feel of his erection against her body.
Rheda looked deep into Lord Strathmore’s dark eyes. Let’s experiment.
Nervously, she ran her tongue over her lips and thrust her chest forward until her breasts parted her jacket, all the while watching his face. A smoldering response flared in his eyes. She couldn’t resist letting a wicked smile play across her mouth.
If she was very clever, if she played Lord Strathmore very carefully, she might be able to talk Rufus into helping with her horse stud without having to reveal Dark Shadow’s identity. After all, women were his weakness, and she intended to drive her own symbolic dagger directly to his groin.
She was up to something.
Rufus soaked in the delicate features of her pale face in the moonlight, watching the play of emotions. Sorrow followed by rage, followed by fear, and dash it all, hope. What was she thinking?
She understood the trap he had caught her in and what he would want from her. His mouth curved up in amusement at her apparent attempt at seduction. He looked forward to seeing how far she’d go.
Slice the knife home. You have the opportunity. Triumph similar to the pride he’d felt when he’d broken Caesar to saddle danced across his skin. He had Rheda at his mercy.
He had too much to lose by not pressing his advantage. She was their only lead.
She was far too young to remember anything about the night his father died, but he was certain she could lead him to Dark Shadow. The smuggler held not only the key to uncovering the traitor he and Stephen had been ordered to capture, but the spy may also know the truth about what happened to his father. Had his father really betrayed his class and country?
The sound of her soft voice giving Jamieson orders sent chills skittering over his skin. The older servant looked about as happy as a man facing the gallows.
Despite the fact that he’d already guessed her plan, seeing her here, with his stallion, shocked him to the core. Here was a baron’s sister, a lady, dressed as a stable boy, caught in the wrong; yet she stood defiant, as regal as any princess. Unabashed at being caught thieving. She didn’t even have the decency to fear him.
She had a lot to learn.
The horses and men left, leaving the two of them alone in the moonlit paddock. Even dressed as a young boy, she radiated sensuality. It poured from her in the flare of her hips, hugged by her breeches, the curve of her breasts bouncing free of any corset, and the feminine pout of her luscious lips. Watching her from beneath hooded lids, he let his gaze follow the line of her breeches up to her tiny waist, onward over her full breasts to the white flesh he glimpsed at the open neck of her shirt.
His hands fisted at his side. They longed to stroke the curves so blatantly displayed before him. Like a man who’d suddenly lost his sight, her shape was imprinted on his brain. His inner voice screamed a warning, stay away from her, but with mounting anger at his weakness, he ignored it, tilting his head slightly as he watched her in increasing fascination.
With a quiet oath that reflected his self-disgust, he stilled his rush of desire. Damn her, the maddening minx!
The ruthless part of him wanted to end it now. Force her to comply with his demand and reveal the truth. He had the ammunition. Would Father have done this? Would he have been as ruthless? As always, his conscience warred—honor was his salvation and his curse.
His discomfort fed his temper. “Come here. I do not intend to shout our conversation across the field.”
“Please.”
He had the irrational urge to storm the short distance between them and put her over his knee. He had never met a more irritating woman. Or more tantalizing.
He bit his tongue and refused to rise to her challenge. He would not let her crawl any farther under his skin.
“Please, come here so I may converse with you.”
Rheda slowly made her way toward him. His nerves began to sizzle as he watched her smugly smile and state, “There will be no kissing tonight. Now that you know who I am. If you do not behave like a gentleman I shall inform Lady Hale.”
“Your point is?”
“She will expect you to adhere to the niceties of the ton. If not you will find yourself betrothed. She’s been trying to marry me off for years. I’m sure you won’t want me for a wife—think of the Strathmore name—scandal follows me wherever I go.”
“So I have heard. Society would not think anything less of me for a dalliance with the likes of you.”
He watched a small frown form on her lovely face. “I am infamous? I have never even had a Season.”
He was well aware of that, for he would have remembered. A beauty stands out, and Rheda was outstanding. “No. I don’t know your name from London. Lady Umbridge was indiscreet tonight.”
She drew herself upright. “Let me guess, Prince Hammed.”
“Yes, that is how I began to understand your interest in Caesar.”
She stood ramrod straight, staring him in the eye.
“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” he said quietly.
“I do not know what she said, so how can I?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Moreover, I do not really care. Those closest to me know the truth. That is all that matters.”
He wanted to know. He wanted to know if she was a fallen woman. Wanted to know she was not a virgin. Wanted it so badly he wished the gossip were true. But then, why should he care? He had her trapped by her own behavior, and she was mistaken if she thought he was not ruthless enough to take advantage of it.
Every muscle in his body clenched. He hated how ruthless he’d become, but his job for the Foreign Office left him little choice. This was not the life he would have chosen. However, his father’s traitorous behavior left him little alternative. He pulled at his gloves, trying to staunch the bitterness from seeping into his skin.
His father’s death had opened his eyes to the hypocrisy of Society and its rules. Up until then he’d lived his life quietly, respectably for a young man of his breeding and wealth. He had been content to let his father oversee the family holdings and investments knowing he was being given his freedom before he had to take his place beside his father at the head of the family.
As a young man finding adulthood, Rufus enjoyed the same pursuits as most gentlemen of breeding—gambling, the horses, and of course women, but he could easily have walked away. He couldn’t wait to work at his father’s side. He had hero-worshipp
ed him.
Rufus knew what he wanted to do. Rheda and he were alike in this respect. He could understand her dream and her desire to breed horses. It was ironic really. He’d wanted to breed the finest racing horses in England. Still did. Unfortunately, fate saw to it that his dream of breeding Royal Ascot winners had yet to be fulfilled.
Even at twenty he would have been quite happy to settle down, live quietly, breed horses, and run the family home. The Strathmore estate, Hascombe, northeast of Cambridge, was not far outside Newmarket. He’d been engaged to the daughter of a duke, and life was wonderful.
Then his father died.
Shot himself, accidentally, while out hunting on this very estate—Hastingleigh. Accidentally, that was, until all the rumors started. Rumors insinuating that his father was a traitor. That he’d taken his own life rather than be caught.
Rufus could not find out how the rumors started, but they soon took hold until every door in the ton slammed closed to him and his mother and younger sister. Even Julie, his fi-ancée, who professed to love him more than her own life, deserted him.
His face hardened. Overnight his dream of breeding racehorse winners died. Who’d buy a horse or back the horse of a traitor’s son? Worse was the impact on his mother.
Memories of the humiliation his mother endured during the first few years after his father’s disgrace gave him the resolve to do what must be done. His mother staunchly defended his father’s innocence. So he’d avowed to prove her right.
Rufus pulled at his cuffs and swore under his breath. He was not about to let a wild, uncivilized native of Kent ruin this mission. Not when he might be close to the truth. He would clear his father’s name at any cost. He owed Society, and this woman in particular, nothing.
Folding his arms across his chest, he let her suffer, the silence stretched out between them. Her pulse must be racing knowing he had her trapped. Deliciously trapped by her nefarious behavior.
However, his anger leaped when he observed her more closely. She stood, calm and cool, as if she had all night and it was his time that was a wasting. With the stupid cap hiding her curls, her delicate features took on a waiflike fragility in the moonlight. The masculine clothing hugging her curves delectably emphasized that she was indeed all woman.
Invitation to Scandal Page 7
