Blake set the grain pail on the ground and backed himself toward Lady Aileen, closing the gate behind him.
Thomas started gobbling away. Folly’s ears perked, and she decided to assert her authority. Lady Aileen had not been jesting. The mare was truly offended by the gelding’s presence, and she came at Thomas with her teeth bared.
“She will kick him with all her might,” Lady Aileen warned. “She could break his leg.”
“He’s not that stupid,” Blake answered. “He won’t stand for it.”
A ladylike snort was her answer.
Blake frowned at her. “He isn’t.”
“Men can be very foolish when it comes to something they want. He doesn’t know the danger he is in.”
“We all know we are in danger around women, my lady,” Blake replied. “We just don’t mind the risk.”
Before she could answer, Folly kicked her back legs at Thomas with surprising force.
She missed, but she had come very close to Thomas’s head in the grain pail. The gelding moved away, but Folly was not content. She stalked him.
“We need to stop this,” Lady Aileen insisted. She started through the gate, brushing past Blake, but he stopped her, grabbing her by both arms and pulling her back just as Thomas regrouped and made another foray toward the grain pail.
Folly began bucking without any sign of lameness, and Lady Aileen could have been caught in the battle.
Blake kept his arm wrapped around her, her straw hat crushed against his chest, and he wasn’t about to let her go. She felt good this close to him. Very good.
“We must let it play out now,” he said.
“He’ll be hurt.”
“He could be, but he’s wise. Have you noticed the mare doesn’t act all that lame now?”
“She’ll be worse than ever on the morrow,” was the tart reply.
“Folly won’t overtax herself,” Blake said confidently.
Thomas now trotted the paddock fence, his head up, as if challenging Folly to come after him.
Instead, the mare went right to the feed bucket that had been knocked over during her kicking and began eating for all she was worth.
“She’s eating,” Thomas pointed out, his mouth close to Aileen’s ear. Her hair smelled of the summer flowers and Scotland’s sweet air.
Lady Aileen didn’t respond. She didn’t move from his arms. Was it his imagination, or had her heartbeat kicked up a notch?
His had . . . as had another part of him. He wondered if she was aware.
An hour ago, he’d been furious with her. Right now, she was where he wanted her.
Slowly, she turned in his arms. Their faces were so close that he could see the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, but she was not smiling. “That was dangerous,” she whispered.
“No, they were doing just what animals do. It’s all a game. Attraction, rejection, and on and on it goes.” He waited, half expecting her to push away and praying she wouldn’t.
He leaned forward. She seemed to move closer to him as well. The air around them hummed with excitement—
“No,” she whispered, her eyes troubled. “No,” she repeated, saying the word with more force. She pushed back from him.
He understood what she meant, but for a second, he was ready to pretend ignorance. He held her, craving her heat, and then he, too, let go.
She stumbled and regained her balance.
For a long moment they stood, facing each other. Tension whirled in the air around them, but its cause wasn’t one of anger. No, they feared themselves.
“I’m not that woman,” Aileen said before spinning on her heel and walking as fast as her legs could carry her toward Annefield. Her hands tried to bring order to her hair, and she replaced her hat with distracted, anxious movements.
Blake watched her until she was out of sight, and only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath.
God, his knees were even weak.
He moved, needing to make his senses work.
What had just happened both puzzled and embarrassed him. He prided himself on always maintaining control . . . and yet, with her, he was powerless, even over himself.
He glanced round. Thomas and the mare watched him. They stood side by side, grazing. Apparently their differences had been settled.
“Don’t look at me that way, old man,” Blake said to the gelding. “You’re as stupid around them as I am.”
Was it his imagination, or was there a glint of commiseration in Thomas’s eye?
Blake walked over to the now empty grain pail and picked it up, shooing off Folly as he did.
If Aileen feared her father’s discovering the mare’s presence, and if the earl was as interested in his horses as she claimed, then having all grain pails accounted for was necessary. Folly ran with a hobbling gait to the far corner of the paddock. She’d used all she had on schooling Thomas and was once again a broken-down mare in need of a champion.
But Thomas would not be her defender. He had to be taken back to the stables.
Unlatching Thomas’s reins, Blake led the horse out of the paddock and mounted.
Folly came running to them then. She did not want to be alone. She called after them, her lament of loneliness echoing in the clearing as Blake rode away.
Blake was disappointed he didn’t come across Lady Aileen. She must have taken a different path. He had planned on showing her that he’d picked up the feed pail, that he had been thinking of her best interests. What better proof would she need?
Except she’d see through him to his true motives.
Just as he’d seen through hers.
Geoff Hamilton had done all he could to blacken her name. A woman scorned was no match for the temper of a man cuckolded. Blake had believed the stories. A woman having an affair in London was not a novelty. Having a husband angry enough to cry adultery was.
There was more to the tale. He knew that now, and he wanted to know her story, because he didn’t believe she could be an adulteress. She was like him. She understood honor. She had a code. Moments ago, she had wanted to kiss him as much as he’d wanted to taste her, and yet she’d pulled away. She’d forced herself from him because of her sister, because of her family honor.
This was not the action of a woman who would cheat on her marriage vows.
When he arrived at the stable yard, not even the lad who had helped him saddle Thomas seemed to be around.
Blake led Thomas through the passageway and into the square. Horses stuck their heads out over their stall doors. Thomas called out to them, no doubt bragging about his time teasing Folly, and received several answers.
Blake placed the grain pail next to one of the stall doors before going about the business of untacking Thomas. He had removed the saddle and was rubbing down the horse when a stall door from the other side of the square opened and, to his surprise, Tara walked out.
She was dressed for riding.
Thinking that perhaps she had come looking for him, Blake called out, “Tara.”
The woman jumped at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide, as if his presence shocked her.
“You didn’t hear the horses calling to each other?” he asked, bemused by her surprise—and then he realized something was not completely right. There was a hint of worry in Tara’s eye. Or was that guilt?
She also appeared softer to him, less tense than she had been over the past several days. Her complexion even had a rosy glow.
Then he perceived movement inside the stall. A man’s white shirt.
Tara caught the direction of his glance and said, “I was going to ride, but Dirk had thrown his shoe.”
That was true. Blake knew that.
“I called for Mr. Jamerson,” Tara finished.
Jamerson.
The horse master with dark good looks came out of the stall.
“Mr. Jamerson’s banns were announced this morning,” Tara was saying, her voice slightly breathless in that way she had when she was pretending very h
ard that all was as it should be.
Blake knew. He’d heard her speak that way often over the last three days.
“Yes, I know,” Blake said, measuring his competition. “Congratulations are in order, Jamerson.”
“As they are for you, sir,” Mr. Jamerson said with humble diffidence, and Blake had a very masculine urge to pick the man up and toss him into a water trough . . . because he now understood what was different about Tara. She appeared more relaxed because her lips were rosy, full, swollen . . . well kissed.
And she thought him such a fool that he would not notice.
An anger he didn’t know he had inside him erupted. “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”
Chapter Ten
Blake knew she had been kissing Ruary.
For a second, panic threatened to overwhelm Tara, but then pride took over. Pride in the man she loved.
Years ago she had denied Ruary. She would not do so any longer. She would not feel embarrassment or shame.
Only moments ago, she’d been so absorbed with finally being able to hold Ruary and be held by him that she had not registered they’d not been alone. She’d even lost track of time.
Now she found herself less than ten feet away from the man who would be her husband, and she knew she looked as if there had been intimacies, but she didn’t care.
She loved Ruary. He was important to her. Their passionate meeting in the stall had served to convince her that she’d been right to run away. No other man had ever kissed her so fully or completely, and no other man ever would.
In truth, she’d been willing to offer all she had to him. Right there on the floor of the stall in the hay. Her desire, her need for him was that strong, and his response to her kisses had proven to her that he still cared. He would always care.
But Ruary had been the one to refuse to consummate their love. He had explained that he had to respect his betrothal to Jane. He must. At least until he and Tara had made a decision about their future. But first, he wanted to speak to Jane.
And his words, full of honor, had made Tara admire him all the more . . . especially when, for all his fine protestations, he’d not been able to resist kissing her again. And again.
With each kiss came hope. A love like theirs could not be denied.
A cold hardness came to Blake’s eye as his gaze rested on her lips. They were still swollen from Ruary’s kisses, and for a moment she had doubt. Blake was not a man to insult.
She braced herself for a confrontation, certain Ruary would step forward. He’d come up to stand beside her.
Blake looked from one to the other. “What was going on in the stall?” he asked.
Ruary answered, “The horse in that stall threw a shoe. Lady Tara could not go riding until it was replaced.”
That was true . . . although Tara had hoped for a more impassioned response from Ruary.
“I would imagine a farrier’s duties beneath you, horse master,” Blake said, his tone low, dangerous.
A tight muscle worked in Ruary’s jaw. Tara held her breath.
“We don’t stand on much ceremony here,” Ruary answered. “The horse needed the shoe tacked on, and I was here to do it.”
“The earl is fortunate to have your services,” Blake responded, but there was an undercurrent of meaning in his words.
Ruary squared his shoulders, and suddenly Tara feared this confrontation. Too much was at stake. What if Blake went to her father? Ruary could be hurt, and Aileen’s comment about the horse master needing a way to earn his living echoed in Tara’s mind.
“I’m ready to walk back to the house now,” she said, interjecting herself between them. She kept her voice light, innocent, with just the touch of warmth that pleased men.
Contrary to character, Blake turned away from her. “I need to untack my new friend Thomas Aquinas.”
“Oh, Mr. Jamerson can see to that, won’t you, sir?”
A cloud darkened Ruary’s face, an expression that said groom’s duties truly were beneath him.
She smiled, pleading with her eyes for him to just continue the ruse a bit longer. After all, he expected her to do the same for him over Jane.
Ruary stretched his muscles, as if unwinding tension. “Yes, of course I will. I’m glad you like Thomas, sir,” he continued, walking up to the horse. “He’s one of the best in this stable. A grand personality.”
“And another task outside your duties,” Blake prodded. There was still an edge to his tone. “You Scots are a humble lot.”
Ruary reached for the saddle. Blake had already unfastened the girth. “The stable lad went down the lane for his supper. I told him I would see to things while he was gone. I started off in these stables performing the exact same duties. In truth, there are times I miss it. Nothing like the day-to-day handling of a horse that tells you what you need to know about an animal. Makes them respect you.”
Tara assumed that last was directed at Blake, and she decided to separate her men. “Come, Blake,” she coaxed, pulling on his arm. “Let us go to the house.”
“But of course, my lady. Lead the way,” Blake answered.
She did not have to be asked twice. As she and Blake walked to the entryway, she could feel Ruary watching them, and she knew he was not pleased. She wanted him certain of her. She owed him that much, but still—a little jealousy was not a bad thing.
Tara began babbling to Blake about plans for the wedding day. She really didn’t know what she was saying. As was so often the situation when she was with him, she just wanted to fill the silence and ease the tension. Here was a topic that she felt must interest him. Besides, it was easier to talk about menus and schedules than something of true substance—
Blake grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. They were halfway to the house, guarded by the line of beeches that separated the garden from the stable path.
“I am not a fool, Tara,” he said.
“I would never call you such,” she answered, sounding convincing to her own ears. If he wanted a scene, well, this was as good a place as any. She braced herself.
He did not disappoint. “Why did you run away?” he asked. “And don’t offer that nonsense of a maidenly fear of matrimony. I won’t buy it—”
“It isn’t nonsense,” Tara said. “It was very real—”
He placed a hand on each arm as if he would give her a shake. “You went to great extremes and a good deal of danger to avoid marrying me, and then you turn around and act as if you are happy with our wedding? Then I catch you flirting with the horse master, and now you are on pins and needles as if daring me to make an accusation. What is this? What game are you playing? Why did you bolt? Is there someone else?”
A few moments ago, with Ruary beside her, she’d been ready to declare to the world her love for him.
But now, she found she couldn’t. Blake’s directness was unnerving.
At her silence, he said, “I’m not some callow youth, Tara. Things can be complicated between men and women. What I ask for, what I trust, is honesty.”
She searched his eyes. He appeared serious, but she had heard these declarations before. People always claimed to want honesty, but when they had it, they were not pleased.
And sometimes she didn’t know what the truth was.
She experienced that confusion now, because Blake was a good man, one who would be an excellent husband. She’d not been foolish in choosing him over her other suitors in London. Many a man had been willing to pay the price her father had wanted for her hand.
“Kiss me,” she said.
“What?”
“Kiss me.” Tara lifted herself toward him. “Is that such an outrageous request?”
He appeared baffled by her demand, and it was Tara’s turn to become surly. “Blake, you’ve kissed me before. I mean, you’ve kissed my hand and my cheek, but they were pecks, a mere brush of the lips. I don’t think any one of them has ever qualified as a true kiss, do you?”
“Such as what Jamerso
n offered?” he countered.
Tara was not truly devious by nature, and she’d vowed never to deny Ruary, but for the briefest moment, her heart seemed to stop. Was she making the right decision?
And then she heard herself challenge him. “Why are you so insistent upon marrying me?”
His hands dropped from her arms. “Because—,” he started and then stopped, as if there were no words to follow.
“Because why?”
“Because . . . I need a wife.”
“Well, then, any woman would have suited your purpose. But why did you choose me?”
“I admire you?” he hazarded.
She almost laughed. “You don’t sound certain.”
“Is that terrible?” he said.
“It’s not loverlike. Can you imagine Romeo doing all he did for Juliet simply because he admired her?”
“So I am to be tested?” he snapped. “You want to measure my kisses against a servant’s?”
Ah, there it was. “Ruary is not a servant. He is a good and noble man—”
“And you wish to compare lovers,” he shot back.
“He is not my lover,” she said, heat rising to her cheeks. “And since you raise the question, let me say I am untouched. I am as you expect . . . but is it wrong, Blake, to start wondering if there isn’t more to the idea of marrying than matching bloodlines or being sold off to the highest bidder?”
“There were others who would have bid more for you. You turned them down, remember?”
“Such as your brother Arthur?”
“My half brother Arthur, and, no, I was not referring to him. He could never have afforded the price your father put on you.”
“But it gave you great pleasure to spite him and claim me,” she answered, as clear-eyed as he himself. “But shouldn’t marriage mean something more than a chance to prove yourself better than the duke’s legitimate sons?”
“You know nothing of it,” he muttered. He took a step toward the house, but Tara was not going to let him run from that statement.
She grabbed his arm and held on. She might be female and several stone lighter than he, but she did have strength, especially when she dug in her heels.
He whipped around. “What?”
The Bride Says No Page 12
