“I’ll assist the lady.” He dismounted, tossed the boy his reins, and held out his hand to Iris as the boy led the gray off. “May I help you?”
Iris frowned a little as Chaos tensed underneath her and sidestepped nervously, away from Lord Wrexley. “I’m perfectly capable of dismounting.”
“Of course you are.” Even as he agreed, Lord Wrexley reached up and wrapped his hands around her waist. “But you must be tired after our race, and famished, as well. I’d hate for you to fall.”
She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as he lifted her easily from the saddle and lowered her until her feet touched the floor. “Thank you, my lord.”
“My pleasure, Miss Somerset.” He should have released her then, but instead his fingers tightened on her waist, and his eyes warmed as he looked down at her. “I’ll set the race for the day after tomorrow, but shall we sneak out again tomorrow morning? It will give you another chance to ride Chaos before the race.”
Iris nodded, aware as she did she was far more tempted by Chaos than she was by Lord Wrexley.
He didn’t seem to notice. He lifted a hand and smoothed a tendril of hair away from her cheek. “I’ve always found you lovely, but more so today than ever before. I didn’t realize you were a lady of such spirit.” He trailed a gloved fingertip over her cheek. “It shows here, in the curve of your face.”
He was gazing down at her with the same look in his eyes he’d had last night when they’d walked together on the terrace.
She knew what it meant. Lord Wrexley wanted to kiss her, and she was going to let him, because she wanted something from him, as well.
To know if another man’s kiss could devastate her the way Lord Huntington’s did.
Iris drew a deep breath and forced herself to remain still as Lord Wrexley’s mouth drew closer, but just as he was about to touch his lips to hers, the memory of a pair of hazel eyes drifted through her mind.
She gave a tiny shake of her head to knock it loose, to focus on Lord Wrexley’s blue eyes, which were really quite nice. Why, any lady would be thrilled to gaze into those eyes as he lowered his head for a kiss.
Except the hazel eyes were still there. Iris closed her own eyes to shut them out, but she could still see them, a cool gray brown at first, darkening to a warmer green, and then going darker still, a forest at midnight, the long, thick lashes growing heavier as she ran her fingertips over his lips and throat and inhaled the warm, fresh scent of his skin.
A sigh escaped her, and she just had time to see Lord Wrexley’s lips curve in a satisfied smile before his face was so close it grew blurry, and the voice in her head spoke then, so clearly, as if the words had been whispered in her ear.
I don’t want to kiss Lord Wrexley. I only want to kiss Lord Huntington.
And then, as if she’d conjured it from her fevered imagination, another voice, low and vibrating with fury.
“Take your hands off hernow, Wrexley, or be prepared meet me at dawn.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Calm down, Huntington.” Lord Wrexley took care to sound bored, but he didn’t waste any time stepping away from Miss Somerset. “Nothing improper took place.”
Not yet, but it would have.
Finn didn’t bother to voice the reply, and he didn’t spare Wrexley a glance. “Get out.”
“Now look here, Huntington. You can’t just—”
“Does Captain West know you took that horse out?” Finn pointed his riding crop at Chaos. “Did you get his permission before you hoisted Miss Somerset into the saddle and tore off into the countryside with her, alone?”
“Of course he did! Didn’t you, my lord?” Miss Somerset appealed to Lord Wrexley, but he remained silent.
Finn let out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t think so. Get out, Wrexley.”
Wrexley shot a questioning glance at Miss Somerset, who gave him a curt nod, then he turned and left the stables without another word, leaving her there alone to manage a large, enraged marquess.
Bloody coward.
Miss Somerset, however, looked more than equal to the task. Lips pressed into a tight line, stubborn chin thrust into the air and jaw tight—yes, those were the telltale signs.
The lady was about to succumb to a fit of temper.
Despite his jealous fury, anticipation sparked low in Finn’s belly.
