Hell and damnation, when had his baser urges taken over? Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was truly a free man. Something unleashed inside of him and he could no longer hold back this… hunger he had for Charley. Lust. Yes, it was lust, he decided. What else could possibly have him growing hard and also wondering if she had the same delightful freckles on her breasts, her belly… along the soft skin of her thighs?
Or imagining her hair spread out on his pillow. It would look striking against white linen, magnificent threaded through his fingers.
But he also liked her.
Very much.
She handed the flask back to him just as one of the grooms opened the front door. Sounds of approaching chatter drifted outside.
He gestured to the tall vehicle behind him. It wasn’t at all practical for a drive in the country. Especially now that distant clouds had formed on the horizon, but it was tall, and fast, and the seat was large enough for only two people—that was, if they sat very close to one another.
“As I was chosen specifically to escort you today, I’ve taken it upon myself to introduce you to my baby.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Your baby?”
“She’s much like a baby—requires shelter, regular cleaning, and of course, love and tenderness.”
She rolled her eyes but then tilted her head back to get a good look at what was likely one of the most frivolous purchases he’d ever made.
“Is it safe?” She slid him a doubtful sideways smirk.
Jules raised a fist to his heart. “I’m shattered that you doubt my driving abilities.”
“I didn’t think you English nobs did much driving. Not when you employ servants to carry out such tasks and whatnot.”
“I promise you. There is not one in all of the kingdom who drives better.” Which he was almost certain was true. He didn’t want her worrying, though, and grew serious. “I assure you; I would never put you in any danger.” How had he come to be holding her hand?
She squeezed his fingers. “I know.”
Jules didn’t want to wait for the other guests to begin pouring out of the house. He wanted to whisk Charley away for the entire day. The idea that had been growing in his mind seemed even more attractive now than it had when it had first taken root. But would she agree to it?
Still holding her hand, he drew her toward his pride and joy. “Put one foot here, and then step on the wheel. That’s right, hold on there.” He’d dropped his hands to her waist and helped her climb up to the seat.
Again, the sensation of satisfaction and contentment settled over him when she arranged her skirts after sitting on the bench—arightnessas he performed something so ordinary as taking her out for a drive.
It was an odd sort of emotion to have for someone he wanted to make love t—someone he wanted to bed.
By the time he’d gone around, climbed on beside her, and taken hold of the reins, his sisters and a few others were coming down the steps to get into the other vehicles lined up. The tea being served at the base of the Abbey, he knew, would be fit for a queen and had most likely already been set up for the day. It would be a very busy day for the servants.
“What about Mrs. Crabtree?” Charley asked. “Where will she sit?”
“She can meet us there. Hold onto me.” If they acknowledged the others now, they wouldn’t be able to escape for another twenty minutes.
Her hand crept through his elbow where she sat to the right of him.
“This is exciting.” She made no effort to hide her pleasure at riding high up in a shiny black vehicle with two handsome cattle waiting to be sprung.
“You aren’t afraid.”
“No,” she answered without hesitation as he flicked his wrists and, with a little jerk, they pulled away from the manor. “Is this something you do for enjoyment? Besides billiards and cards and shooting inanimate targets in your ballroom?”
“It is, and may I rightly point out that you are a reverse snob?” he teased back. “And what do you do when you aren’t riding with Indians, killing bears with your bow and arrow or cavorting about presidential estates?”
“I don’t really do any of that.” He took a moment to glance over at her. She was watching the road ahead. “My father says I spend too much time at the distilleries. But I do enjoy riding, I suppose.”
“Not side-saddle.”
“No. Never.” They passed by a few trees before—in what he was certain was meant to sound like a casual inquiry—she asked, “If I lived in England, is that a requirement?”
