With a grin, Mary confessed, “Oh. I do like to ride rather fast.”
“Fast? Humph. Reckless is what I’d call it.”
Why did he have to take the tone as if he were speaking to a child?
Mary marched over to the log blocking the path, muttering, “Now would be a good time for one of you to assist me.”
No one appeared.
No one offered their advice.
For as long as she could remember, she’d never been left alone before. There had always been a lost, lonely soul at the ready. If they had all abandoned her, who would be there for her now?
Gilbert chuckled. “I’d assist you if you would allow me to.”
What did the man find so amusing? She eyed his injured shoulder. “You are of no use.”
Mary waited for Gilbert to reply with a quick-witted barb. Instead, he looked about and said, “Well, then how about we take a seat and wait for the rest of our party to arrive?”
Irritated that he had not acted as she anticipated, she snapped, “I’m not going to sit by idly.”
“Would you like to hear my idea?”
“Very well. What is this brilliant thought you have?”
“Tie a rope about that protruding limb and then have your mare pull the trunk around. It will be slow, but I think it will work.”
“I guess it is worth a try.”
As Mary trudged past him, she readjusted his wrist and hand to lie flat once more against his chest rather than resting at waist level. Color flooded Gilbert’s cheeks as if her caring for him in a minuscule way affected him. She smiled at having finally managed to evoke an emotion other than ire in the man.
“Fweet.” The outrider’s whistle caught Mary’s attention.
“Gilbert, the coach will be here soon. Should we wait or proceed with your plan?”
“Are you actually asking me for advice? Normally, you go about without seeking others’ opinions.”
Mary paused mid-stride. How wrong he was. She never did anything without seeking the counsel of others. True, those she sought counsel from were no longer of this earth, but that did not mean their advice was not sound or greatly appreciated. Her angels often provided quality advice, regardless if she requested it or not.
Did others view her behavior as being too proud? She never considered how it might appear to those who saw her in this realm. Abandoned by her angels, she was left with only Gilbert to confer with.
His lopsided grin set her insides aflutter, as if she had swallowed butterflies. More accustomed to his prickly side, she said, “Currently, I’m stuck with you.”
Instead of a biting reply, Gilbert said, “Lucky me. We should wait by the side.”
He placed a hand on her lower back and ushered her to a spot slightly concealed by a tree. “You appear out of sorts. Are you sure there is nothing a matter?”
His intense gaze had her questioning her sanity. For a brief moment, her eyes locked on his lips and she envisioned him kissing her. The image was crystal clear, except their surroundings were different. Her pulse raced as the vividness sank in. They had been in a room full of paintings. Portraits. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Mary’s gaze landed on his lips once more.
The corners of his lips raised into a smile. “Tell me, what is going through that head of yours?”
She certainly wasn’t going to confess the truth—he’d laugh at her. The idea of kissing her had probably never even crossed his mind.
Mary shared her first logical thought. “You’ll have to ride in the coach the rest of the way. You’ll not be able to ride with your arm in a sling.”
“Ah. I’ve ridden many a mile during the war in worse condition. This won’t prevent me from being outdoors. But perhaps if you rode with me, it might be safer for all.”
Confused, Mary asked, “Ride with you?”
“Yes, upon my Arabian. Would you not like that?”
She could not pass up the opportunity to ride such a magnificent animal. She could handle the reins, and she much preferred to ride than being cooped up in the coach.
“I’d love to, and you know it.”
“Perfect. It is settled then, and I won’t have to risk my neck chasing after you again.”
Chapter Seven
It had been miles since Mary had last uttered a word. Three thousand one hundred and sixty-two heartbeats ago. Gilbert had resorted to counting in an attempt to distract his thoughts from the luscious form that rode in front of him. He had successfully used the trick many times during the war to divert his mind from the images of Mary that plagued him. Today, the tactic was failing miserably as his eyes feasted on the creamy skin above her coat collar, and he inhaled the faint scent of cinnamon.
How long would it be before she spoke again?
Mary seemed rather content to take in the scenery. It also provided him with glimpses of her extraordinary profile. His hypothesis that being in her company for long would make it extremely difficult to focus on anything but her was proving to be accurate. Far too accurate. The smattering of faint freckles that graced Mary’s neck taunted him as he adjusted his seat once more.
Heavens above, what was the count—three thousand two hundred and sixty-eight or nine?
For years he had purposely ensured they would rarely cross paths. On the rare occasions they found themselves in each other’s company, he acted like a churl, vowing to redeem himself as soon as he had devised a scheme to ensure her safety if they married. He never expected it to take more than a few years to formulate a feasible plan. Over a decade later, he was no closer to determining how to best honor all his promises than he was when he was a green lad of nineteen calling her names. The memory had him releasing a groan.
Mary twisted at the waist, peering back at him. “Are you in pain?” Her brow crinkled, and her smile vanished.
A simple “No” was all he could manage.
She turned back around to face forward. “It will be late by the time we reach the next posting inn. Perhaps we should have Hadfield look into renting rooms.”
“Absolutely not. Hadfield and I reviewed the map and calculated that if we maintain our pace, we should make it to Valois’s estate by nightfall.”
At the last coaching inn, he had gone rounds and rounds with Hadfield, debating the advantages and difficulties of pressing on for the day. Though Hadfield was a trained barrister, Gilbert won the battle by utilizing the man’s softness toward Mary.
He pointed out that Mary would spend the rest of the journey riding in front of him with her back straight as an arrow to avoid leaning into his shoulder and causing further injury or dislodging his arm, now securely held in place by a sling fashioned out of one of Mary’s own skirts. Gilbert rounded out his arguments stating de Valois’s estate would more likely accommodate her need for a nice warm bath to ease her stiff muscles than a sit bath at some local inn.
Never one to share his deepest desires, Gilbert ensured none of his reasons hinted at his need for her to be close or his wish to continue eyeing those tempting freckles, begging to be kissed.
He sighed as he banished from his mind the image of him running his tongue along the bare skin of her neck.
Mary’s head swiveled toward him. Eyes narrowed, she stared at him once more.
He really needed to rein in his thoughts.
Gilbert stared back, searching Mary’s face for any indication she too might be suffering from wayward ideas of ignoring proprietary and succumbing to the desire to explore the powerful attraction that had him wanting to taste her. Her honey-brown eyes widened. He smiled at the telltale sign. She most definitely was not immune to his closeness. Mary quickly turned back around.
Disappointed at no longer being able to see her features, he attempted to engage her in conversation. “I wasn’t aware that you were such an accomplished rider.”
It was no exaggeration. Mary managed his Arabian with impressive skill. The silly beast even seemed more at ease with her handling the reins.
G
lancing behind her once more, she asked, “Was that a compliment?”
Gilbert grinned. “I do believe it was.”
She loosened her hold on the reins, swiveled, and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “What ails you?”
“I’m perfectly well.” His smile remained plastered to his face.
“Are you certain you didn’t hit your head? You’ve been acting rather peculiar toward me ever since your fall.”
If his smile only garnered questions, he had better change tactics. Raising one eyebrow, he asked, “Have I?”
His Arabian shook its head, rattling the reins. Mary regained her seat and leaned forward to stroke the horse’s neck.
Blasted beast.
He wanted Mary’s attention. “Pray tell, how have I been acting strangely?”
Remaining faced forward, Mary answered, “Well—For starters, you are not ignoring me.” Placing the reins in one hand, she combed the horse’s mane with the finger of her free hand. Gilbert’s scalp tingled, as it had when she ran her fingers over his head, searching for injuries.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her slender fingers. An involuntary groan escaped his throat. Gilbert waited to see if she would turn around once more. When she remained forward facing, he asked, “Would you prefer I ignore you?”
“No. But perhaps you could go back to counting.”
A giggle escaped her lips. The chit was laughing at him.
Better than silence.
Had he lowered his guard over the hours they traveled inches apart?
Yes—he had allowed the woman to invade his every thought. He should be panicked. Instead, he gave in to his need to touch her and placed his good hand upon her waist.
Mary ceased her giggling, and her head bent forward. The freckle that had tempted him all day was in clear view and mere inches from his lips.
Leaning forward, Gilbert whispered in her ear, “Shall I start from the very beginning or from—” He stopped midsentence, his heart pounding against his chest as Mary place a hand over his.
Mary laced her fingers through his. “From the beginning, please.”
Cinnamon tickled his nose as he inhaled deeply before he began. “One—”
His Arabian nickered, sending Mary’s weight slightly to the side, brushing her ear up against his lip. The tip of his tongue instantly peeked out. Gilbert resisted the temptation to nip at her ear. Instead, he bit his bottom lip.
Mary rotated. Her eyes focused on his lips.
Gilbert prayed Hadfield’s calculations as to the timing of their arrival was accurate, for he wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to resist his urge to taste the woman.
Breathing heavily, Gilbert swallowed before he resumed counting. “Two. Three. Four.”
Mary raised her gaze to meet his. Desire blazed in her eyes.
Gilbert blinked. In that split second, an image of Mary lying naked beneath him appeared before his mind’s eye. Then his mind went blank. The palm of his hand tingled as if her lush breast filled it.
Mary’s sweet voice brought him back to the present. “Gilbert?”
Her eyes were wide open, concern replacing the desire he’d seen mere moments before.
Gilbert shook his head to clear the lurid images. “Sorry lass, say again?”
“Are you certain your fall hasn’t befuddled that brain of yours?”
No, it was not the fall that had him discombobulated. It was the inviting woman that sat before him. He wanted Mary to turn back into the prickly lady of the ballroom.
Lights flickered in the distance. “Ah— finally. Valois’s estate is in sight.”
“Oh, it’s like a French version of Seaburn Manor. Isn’t it beautiful?”
The mansion before them was as enormous as the ducal home Mary grew up in. Three large buildings surrounded the circular drive. Both square and dome-shaped rooftops housed a multitude of chimneys, and the two extensive rows of windows blazed with candlelight. Yes, it was a lovely sight, but Gilbert’s attention wasn’t upon the French duke’s estate.
Hadfield had dropped back and now rode alongside them. “Lady Mary, we shall arrive soon. Might I suggest you retire from riding for this last leg of the journey?”
Mary withdrew her hand from Gilbert’s and pulled back on the reins. “I’d rather not, but I agree with you that it would be wise for me to arrive in the coach rather than seated upon Lord Waterford’s Arabian.”
Hadfield’s dimple appeared as he said, “You handled the beast extremely well. Wouldn’t you agree, Waterford?”
With his thoughts distracted, Gilbert blurted, “Adequate.”
Every muscle in Mary’s body stiffened. “Lord Hadfield, would you mind assisting me?”
Hadfield quickly dismounted and reached up as Mary deftly swung her leg over the horse and jumped into the man’s arms.
Mary let out a giggle as he caught her and twirled her about like a little girl.
Hadfield said, “Give your legs a moment to adjust.”
Anger blazed through Gilbert like a wildfire. “Let her go. She’s quite capable of standing on her own two feet.”
Hadfield slowly lowered Mary to the ground and promptly winged his arm. “I’m sure she is.”
After spending the entire day in her company, Gilbert’s aversion to their predestined union was diminishing. The thought of Mary belonging to another did not sit well with him. Not well at all.
After Mary was safely tucked away in the coach, Hadfield remounted and turned to face him.
“You could have at least had the decency to give her a compliment after she nursed your arm.”
“I’m not one to exaggerate or lie.”
Hadfield chuckled as he turned his steed about. “It will make my courting her easier if you continue to behave as you have.”
Gathering up the reins in his good hand, Gilbert urged his horse forward to catch up to Hadfield. “You’ll not be able to sway Mary in your direction.”
“Is that so?”
Grumbling, Gilbert said, “She was happily residing in Scotland. Archbroke and his wife should have left matters be and not involved Mary in their schemes.”
Hadfield placed a hand on his good arm. “Please tell me you didn’t have something to do with her banishment.”
“I promised Phillip I’d look after the chit. I sent a note to her papa informing him of my extended stay here on the Continent. I did pen the suggestion he might send her to live with her aunt while I was away and unable to keep an eye on her.”
Gilbert eyed the curtains. They fluttered unnaturally. Tarnation! If Mary had heard his confession, then she would be livid with his actions. An ache at his temple had him rubbing the side of his head. Perhaps it was best if she were angry with him.
“Waterford, you are a fool.” Hadfield shook his head and then motioned to the coach. “Inside that vehicle is a brilliant, kind, and not to mention beautiful young woman who needs a husband who can provide more than food and shelter. Mary shares the same thirst for adventure as Theo and Lucy.” Hadfield kicked his horse and paced slightly ahead. Over his shoulder, he said, “Mary should not settle for any man who is not willing to embrace and foster her desires.”
Gilbert closed his mouth, which had hung wide open at Hadfield’s words.
What did Mary desire?
If anyone were to find out, it would be him. There was no way he was going to leave Mary alone with Hadfield ever again.
Chapter Eight
As the coach rolled to a stop, Mary inhaled deeply. She could only hope a footman or Lord Hadfield would be there to assist her down, for she could not face Gilbert. His words had torn apart every kind sentiment she had conjured while riding alone with him. He was the one responsible for her banishment to Scotland. Not that she had hated it, but it was beyond comprehension as to why her family had listened to Gilbert’s suggestions. He wasn’t her betrothed. He had no claim over her. Oh, why had she let her guard down with the man? Gilbert obviously wanted nothing to do
with her.
Mary longed for Lady Frances’s reassurances. Her guardian angel would have told her that all would be well and to have faith. Never in her life had silence been her companion. The loneliness was suffocating.
The coach door swung open, and a liveried footman appeared. Mary sighed in relief. She took the young man’s gloved hand and descended from the coach.
A man with near-black hair, without a trace of silver, descended the ornate staircase before her. Mary took in a breath. The man’s features were stunning. Eagle-like nose. A face graced with lines from years of laughter. But it was his striking eyes that had Mary questioning her vision. They were the same shade of blue that all Mary’s male relatives were blessed with.
Up close it was clear he was of a similar age to Gilbert. How surprising—she was expecting Duc de Valois to be older, nearer in age to her papa.
“Ahh. Mademoiselle Mary.” He bent and kissed both her cheeks that were now flushed red. “Welcome.”
“Merci beaucoup. I appreciate the warm greeting.”
He bent low to whisper, “Our ancestors alerted me to your arrival, but they did not provide me with the reason for your visit. But first, go inside.” He waved his hand toward the enormous front doors.
Mary could not help but ask. “They speak to you also?”
“Oui. All the time. But let’s discuss your stay in private. Here are your men.”
“My men?”
“Soupirants? Comment les appelez-vous en anglais?” Her cousin wasn’t speaking to her, but those that others could not see, which now included Mary. “Ahh. Oui—suitors.”
“Oh no,” Mary shook her head. “They’re more like bodyguards, not suitors.”
“Not what I was told.” He looked her over, and when their eyes met, there was a distinct glimmer of interest. “I can’t wait to talk.”
The skin on the back of her neck prickled. What caused it, the look from her cousin or brush of Gilbert’s hand across the small of her back?
Stepping out of Gilbert’s hold, Mary grabbed the skirts of her dress and began marching up the stairs.
Visions of Lady Mary Page 5
