She found him in the dining room and the moment he looked up at her, a dream she’d had during the night came back to her. He’d been powerful, all male strength, so potent she could still feel his hands gripping her with barely contained voracity. She’d tried to run, but he would not let her; he kept her crushed against him, and he overpowered not only her body, but her resistance with so little effort.
A deep blush rose up high on her cheeks, and she was quite certain she was blushing from head to toe. He stared back at her from his chair wearing a smile that made her wonder if he’d somehow known precisely what she’d been thinking.
“I trust you slept well, my lady,” he greeted her, appearing completely at ease.
“Yes, of course, thank you.”
He rose as she approached. He was so close, she’d swear she could feel the heat that radiated from his body. Or was that her own body that felt like it had been set ablaze? She struggled for some topic that would get her mind off his nearness.
“Do you ride horses?” he asked as he sat back down.
“I do. I find it a very enjoyable pastime. My father bought me an Andalusian when I was nine, and it was the most magnificent creature.”
He raised his eyebrows dubiously, as if he disagreed. “Really? I have several such creatures, but however could your father have afforded such an animal?”
Oh dear, already she’d slipped up. She’d been so rattled by his nearness and the memories of her dream that she hadn’t thought to filter her response to his simple question. “Well, it was a gift, you see. My father had been the head groom for a very wealthy lord, and the man wanted to show his gratitude. And so, he gave my father the horse…and my father gave it to me.” She covered her lie, quite impressed she’d been able to think so quickly after her blunder.
He smiled, but there was something else in his eyes. It was gone so quickly, she wondered if it was her own guilty conscience that had her imagining it.
“Since you seem so impressed with the breed, might I ask you to join me this afternoon on a ride? Only if you are feeling well enough, of course.”
“I would be delighted to join you, my lord,” she confessed honestly. Her uncle had sold her horse, thinking it unbecoming a young lady—particularly a marriageable young lady—to be so enthusiastic about the sport.
Lord Weymouth proceeded to tell her about the rest of the horses he had in stables as they ate, and she felt a pang of jealousy. Her only horse had been taken from her and here this man had more horses than he could ever possibly ride. But that was petty of her. She should feel nothing but gratitude to Lord Weymouth. After all, she could very well be dead now if it hadn’t been for him.
When she joined him in the front entryway of the manor two hours after noon, she was thoroughly excited. Long gone was her petty jealousy, and instead she was thrilled to know she would be sitting astride such a fine creature very soon. He guided her out to the stables beyond the manor, but what she saw there captivated her. It was a large stallion, still in the process of being broken. He was pure black, and he was stepping nervously in his stall while a man nearby sought to gain his trust. She stepped closer, wanting to get a better view of the animal.
“He is not safe, Hannah. Keep your distance,” Lord Weymouth warned her, but she took a step, and then another until she stood close enough to reach out slowly, stroking his soft muzzle. He whinnied at her touch, but then his nervous steps slowed, and soon he was standing still beneath her touch. “My lord, he’s wonderful,” she whispered in awe as she withdrew and turned to face him.
But he was right there, directly behind her. “Impressive for sure, Hannah,” he spoke gruffly. “But the next time I tell you to do something for your own safety, I expect that you’ll do it. Do I make myself clear?” His voice seethed with anger and that same emotion flashed through his eyes. He moved to raise his hand, and she ducked, skittering away.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I was just caught up in the creature. I shan’t let it happen again,” she tripped over her own apology, hating her own weakness, but still she steeled her body against the blow that was coming.
He stared at her, his anger turning to confusion, and then to something else, but she didn’t know how to put a name to what she saw there.
“You thought I was going to hit you?” he said, exacerbated.
“Well, no. No, of course not,” she insisted when it seemed he wasn’t going to do exactly that. She looked around nervously, but she spied them then—the Andalusians—and she let them consume her thoughts, remembering the excitement she’d felt when her father had presented her with her own.
She could still feel Lord Weymouth’s eyes on her as she headed straight to the nearest pair, but she tried to ignore it. The way it was unsettling her was very different than the way his anger had a moment prior. It was the way he often left her feeling unsettled, yearning for something she didn’t understand every time he was near.
She reached up to stroke the first of the pair, and her anticipation grew tenfold. Fortunately, Lord Weymouth seemed to be aware of her eagerness, and he drew the two horses out, both of them already saddled for their ride. She let him lift her up into her saddle—though she’d managed the task hundreds of times herself. But the moment she was seated, she couldn’t help but take off, starting off at a canter before letting the magnificent animal stretch its long legs at full speed.
He caught up quickly and she smiled gleefully as she reined in the horse, bringing her back down to a canter.
“You never mentioned you were such an expert rider,” he teased good-naturedly.
“You never asked,” she joked back, turning her attention back to the horse as she let Lord Weymouth take the lead to guide their direction.
She didn’t know how long they rode—nor did she care—it felt wonderful to be atop a horse again, particularly when she wasn’t in the midst of fleeing for her life. Eventually, he brought them to a halt at a pond. He helped her dismount, and then tethered the horses while she walked ahead, caught up in the breathtaking surroundings. It had been so long since her uncle had allowed her to venture away from the manor.
“Were your master’s lands not so grand?” he queried, coming up behind her silently as a cat.
“Yes, well…no. No, they weren’t. The view is breathtaking.”
“Yes, I couldn’t agree more,” he told her, but as she turned around, she realized he wasn’t looking at the scenery around them. His gaze held hers and she watched a fire blaze to life in his deep, forest green eyes. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t look away. It was mesmerizing.
And then, without warning, he swooped in. His lips were on hers and his body surrounded her, pulling her hard against him.
She tried to protest, to writhe free, but he was crushing her to him. And she quickly realized that though her mind resisted, her body was seeking to get closer—traitorous flesh! The pressure he exerted on her lips made them feel almost bruised, and they parted beneath the weight. His tongue delved in, invading her mouth. He overwhelmed her senses; all she could breathe was his sandalwood scent; all she could taste was the coffee on his tongue; she could hear nothing but his breath against her ear; and his body was the only thing that existed to her own.
It wasn’t until she felt the short hairs at the nape of his neck that she realized she’d wound her hands around him. It was wrong; some distant part of her mind knew it, but she couldn’t help herself. Something deep inside her was drawn to him, and she couldn’t turn it off. It was seeking out whatever it was he so often made her yearn for desperately.
And then his arms were no longer around her and she felt bereft, her body pressing closer to seek him out. His hands returned to her body, cupping her breasts through her clothing. Oh, dear god, what was she allowing to happen? But he ran his fingers over her nipples, sending a jolt of fire straight to the core of her, and she could no longer think.
The scream of an animal far in the distance shattered the haze that clouded her mind. She p
ulled away abruptly, turning from the source of her confusion. A moment passed in silence and she struggled to slow her breathing.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he apologized, his voice right behind her. He laid a hand on her shoulder and a shiver of desire rippled through her body. No, she had to control it. Though he’d been the one to kiss her, she was equally responsible for what happened, allowing her senses to overwhelm her propriety. She barely knew the man, and yet she’d acted like a wanton woman.
“It was a mistake, and nothing more,” she whispered feebly. “I assure you, I do not normally…what I mean to say is…”
“We will start back. The dinner hour is fast approaching,” he instructed, his voice suddenly stiff.
Chapter 6
By the time they’d returned to the manor, he seemed to have regained his composure entirely. If only she felt as composed as he appeared. And he was perfectly amicable during dinner. He invited to teach her the game of chess as they sat in the parlor afterward, and the activity served to distract her. What Lord Weymouth did not know, however, was that she was not a novice at the game. Her father had taught her well—despite her uncle’s objections—that the game was too advanced for the female mind. “Nonsense!” her father had exclaimed. “Any child of mine is capable of the most advanced thinking.” And he’d been right. She’d grasped the game easily, and it had become one of her favorite pastimes with her father—next to horseback riding, of course.
But the way Lord Weymouth had begun to glance at her across the small table brought to mind what had happened at the pond earlier, shattering her concentration. She misplayed two moves in a row, chastising herself after each one for her feeble thinking. Fortunately, he defeated her quickly, not leaving her to linger over her foolishness.
“A game well played, my lady,” he told her, though the light in his eyes told her he was immensely satisfied over his victory.
She was given the opportunity to compensate for her foolish loss the next night, and she bested him finally after a lengthy game. She learned it was far easier to keep her wits about her as she played if she kept her eyes carefully averted from the potent man across from her.
The following days and evenings progressed in the same manner, though she only managed to win once more after that. He was a formidable opponent, and though she didn’t relish losing, she did enjoy the match against one so skilled.
What happened at the pond became a distant memory—so long as she didn’t allow herself to focus on it too much. But as her bruised body healed and she regained her strength, what would come next began to occupy her mind more and more. She needed to leave, to continue with her plan to get as far away from her uncle as she could. But part of her didn’t want to leave, even if she could not admit it aloud.
“I must leave for London on the morrow,” Lord Weymouth announced unexpectedly half way through a chess game several nights later, her mind already caught up in her current predicament.
He was leaving. Perhaps it was time for her to do the same. And with that thought in her mind, she broached the subject, though it took more effort to force the words out than she would have thought. “I think it would be best if I leave as well, my lord. I am long since recovered, and while I appreciate…”
“No,” he stated plainly, as if he had any say in whether she stayed or left. The look on his face certainly made it appear he had ultimate say in the matter.
“You are very kind, my lord, but my staying here is no longer necessary. It is time I continue with my search for a new employer.”
“A new employer?” he queried as if she’d spoken in a foreign language.
“Yes. As I told you, I was seeking employment when I…became unwell.”
“When you became unwell? You damn near let yourself starve to death.”
“I admit, I was not well-prepared, but it could not be helped.”
“And what, may I ask, do you think would have happened to you if it had been some other man who happened upon you that day? Do you suppose you would have fared so well? Have you even thought of “that?”
“Well, no. I mean, now that you mention it, I was aware it was a great risk I was taking venturing out alone…”
“And yet you expect me to allow you to return to the very same stupidity now?”
Her ire rose at his comment. How dare he call her stupid? He knew nothing about her, had no idea what had driven her to the extreme action she’d taken. “It is not for you to decide,” she ground out through gritted teeth.
His anger flared and he stood abruptly. She skittered back in her chair, instantly regretting her rash tongue, and making herself as small as possible as if that would somehow help to her to escape his wrath.
He stared down at her a mixture of anger and something else shooting from his gaze, but without another word he turned on his heel and left.
She breathed a small sigh of relief. He’d never raised his hand to her, and yet his anger seemed to incite the same fear she’d felt beneath her uncle’s heavy fists. But she’d irked Lord Weymouth several times and he hadn’t struck her once. Suddenly she felt the need to apologize for her behavior, but as she sat there waiting for him, she soon realized he did not intend to return. Minutes passed and she continued to sit there, staring at the unfinished game in front of her. A game that would forever remain unfinished, she realized. He was away to London in the morning. And once he was gone, it was time for her to leave, too.
Heaving a heavy sigh, she rose from her chair and climbed the stairs to her room…a room that would no longer be hers in just a few short hours. It was strange how quickly she’d come to feel comfortable in his home, to feel as if she belonged somewhere after feeling like an outcast for so long.
Chapter 7
What the hell was the woman thinking? He’d known her long enough to know she was no fool, and yet she thought to venture out into the wild once again—supposedly in search of work, of which he knew she had no need. Was her husband really such an ogre that wild animals and highwaymen were a better option than staying with the man?
And what about him? Why was she so opposed to staying there with him? Aside from that brief slip near the pond, he’d been entirely cordial, a perfect gentleman in her company—even if it had come near to driving him insane.
She was so damn beautiful. And more than that, she was intelligent and witty, kind and gentle. He’d wanted to take her time and again since he’d carried her near-unconscious, almost-starved body to the manor. And he knew she wanted him, too, even if she held herself in check. But why did she do that? If she had no intention of returning to her husband, why had she held herself from him? Why not give into the desire that charged the air between them?
If he could have her but once, he was convinced this overwhelming need she stirred would subside. And then, when she left, he would not feel bereft over her absence. Yes…that was what he needed. If he could bury himself deep inside her sensual body and taste every one of her hidden delights, then perhaps she would cease to occupy his mind relentlessly. Yes, that is what he needed, and what he would have.
His mind made up, he rose from his chair and strode across his office. Up the stairs before he could change his mind, he hesitated when he reached her door. What if she resisted like she had at the pond? No, he wouldn’t allow it. If there was no attraction on her end, then he would not have pushed it, but she wanted him, too. He was certain of it.
He threw open the door and stormed in, but the maid was there with her. Hannah sat at the small table by the window while her maid brushed her dark, silken hair. She was clothed in only a dressing gown that did little to hide the gentle curves beneath.
“Out!” he ordered the maid, and the girl dropped the brush on the table and skittered out of the room without a word.
“My lord, I should apologize…” Hannah began as she rose from the seat and turned to face him, but he cut her off quickly.
He’d crossed the large room in long strides, and he pulled her to him as she
spoke, crushing her against him and gritting his teeth against the wave of arousal that crashed through him at the feel of her warm body against his. Yes, this is what his body needed.
He covered her lips with his, firmly, demanding she open for him. And whether willingly or because of the crushing pressure, she acquiesced and he slid into her warm mouth.
But it was not nearly enough and he released his hold on her, still covering her lips with his own but reaching for her dressing gown. He pulled it off her in one smooth movement. She whimpered against his lips, realizing too late what he’d intended to do, but when she moved to pull away, he drew her back to him with one arm, moving between them with the other to cup her breasts. He could feel her indecision; her body wanted to press forward while her mind warred against her innate desire.
He grazed his fingers over her nipples, remembering how quickly she’d responded to his touch at the pond, and it was no different this time. She ceased her struggle and her chest thrust toward his hand in silent supplication.
“I’ve wanted you like this from the moment I first saw you,” he whispered huskily against her lips. Knowing she would not pull away now, he stepped back to stare down at her naked body. His hands followed his eyes, sweeping up her slender arms, down over her collarbones. He cupped her bare breasts in his hands and she moaned in response, sending a shockwave of arousal through his body. But he didn’t stop there. He traveled lower, over her ribs and the soft, smooth skin of her abdomen. Her eyes remained on his the whole time, and he saw a flicker of doubt pass through them when he began to move lower, running his fingers through the soft curls at the apex of her thighs.
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