“Was he trained by your husband?”
A short pause. “Yes.”
There was a twinge in the vicinity of his heart. At one time, he’d fancied he would be the one to select and train her horses. He’d planned on filling the Kempton stables with beautiful horseflesh for her enjoyment—he’d have given her a new horse to ride every day of the week if it made her happy.
It took effort to unclench his jaw when he spoke again. “It is pleasing to know that you have continued your love of riding. Is this route something you do each day?”
Silence.
Dorian was proud of himself for not throwing his arms up in frustration at that point. She gave him nothing, so he would have to attempt a different tactic.
“A horse and a dog. It seems as if he was a man who was quite fond of giving gifts of the four-legged variety. Did he ever step outside of these limitations and gift you with anything that did not require care to keep it alive?”
Instantly, Amelia leaned to the side and glared back at him over her shoulder. “Are you that unhappy a man that you must belittle every nicety ever offered by another person? Are you—” Her words died when Maximus misjudged his footing on a stone and made a small slide.
Reflexively, Dorian wrapped Amelia in his arms to help keep her seat. That movement pulled her body flush with his. In that perfect moment, Dorian could imagine what it would feel like to pull her against him with no barriers of hindering clothing between them, how her softness would give where he was hard, how he would support her, and she would cradle him in return. His seat suddenly became far less comfortable all over again.
“I am capable of keeping myself atop a horse, thank you.” Was it his imagination, or was Amelia slightly breathless?
It took effort, but he unwound his arm from the gentle curve of her waist.
She was shaken.
It was a start.
He was counting on some lingering physical spark between them and the very fine lines separating powerful emotions like love, hate, and lust. Taking the chance, Dorian leaned down and brushed the sensitive curve where her neck met her collarbone. His eyes were rapt when he watched as gooseflesh rose against his gentle caress. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the warm scent of horse, expensive oiled leather tack, and sugared vanilla.
All Amelia.
“I’d forgotten how good you smell.” The words came out in a whisper that was more strained than he’d intended, as he was once more assailed by a hundred memories linked to that specific combination of scents. Specifically, he recalled the time they’d gone for a ride through Hyde Park at dawn and used the cover of the golden morning mists to slip away from her chaperone and indulge in a brief, passionate embrace. He’d playfully snatched the reins from her hands and, when she turned to scold him, he’d leaned over and slanted his mouth over hers. It had been a divine moment of perfection.
This time, Amelia did tremble against the rumble of his words against her spine.
When he slowly, gently wrapped his arm around her waist, she didn’t shove him away. Instead, her small, gloved hand covered his on her hip, and she tilted her head ever so slightly to allow his lips better access when they grazed the side of her throat. Dorian closed his eyes, picturing her doing the same as her lips parted, savoring his touch. He inhaled deeply, trailing his nose and lips up through the wispy curls loosened by the wind, kissing the pale, sensitive skin at the base of her ear.
When he pulled back, she looked over her shoulder at him. A pink flush crested her high cheekbones—a color he believed was more attributed to his touch than the brisk breeze that had kicked up. Her luminous eyes searched his face—for sincerity? For confirmation that he was as moved as she?—and he knew all she had to do was sit back a fraction of an inch to realize the true, full extent of his arousal.
Amelia opened her mouth to speak but was cut off with a small flinch when a fat, cold raindrop struck the tip of her nose. She held out her hand and tilted her face toward the sky.
Another struck her, then another, speckling her riding outfit with small, dark circles. They had been so lost in one another that they had forgotten to track the rapid darkening of the sky.
And they were still more than a mile away from the castle.
Dorian released her with a curse and shoved the reins into her hand. With only a little difficulty, he managed to shrug out of his riding coat and drape it across Amelia’s head and shoulders. He held it in place when she would have thrown it off. She sputtered at the indignity until the rain began in earnest.
Great sheets of chilly rain drenched them to the bone. Amelia had some cover from the fine wool of his jacket, but that would only protect her so much. Meanwhile, Dorian sat behind her, the fine white linen of his shirt soaked transparent in a matter of seconds. He thrust his sodden hair from his eyes as they plodded along, and thanked God when he finally caught sight of the castle through the grey haze in the distance.
He decided to see the weather as an opportunity to cool his ardor and level his head.
He was not supposed to lose himself entirely in the attraction of the past. He and Amelia were very different people from who they had been, and they could never—would never—return entirely to the way things once were.
Chapter Four
The miserable rainprovided no more opportunities for speaking, but that suited Amelia just fine. She was too confused—too waylaid in her own head—to do much of it anyway. She pulled the corner of Kempton’s once beautiful riding coat down just as they crested the hill she knew would bring the castle into sight. Looking down, she watched as poor Faye kept up determinedly, pausing to ineffectually spray water droplets in every direction as she shook and was once again immediately drenched.
Amelia turned her attention to the large male hand clasping the reins at her side. If Kempton had been overcome with her scent earlier, then she’d been experiencing the same thing ever since he’d dropped his coat over her. She was enveloped in the deliciously musky male scent of sweat, horseflesh, and a spice whose identity she’d always pondered, but never had the nerve to ask him about. He smelled so different from her late husband’s scent of soap and leather. Both were pleasant, both unique, but both were underscored by the man who wore them.
Comparing the men made her supremely uncomfortable, and she was grateful when they finally entered the courtyard.
