He lengthened his stride through the courtyard and into the stabl–
A bundle of cotton and woman filled his hands, the scent of rosemary igniting his senses and he tightened his grip around a slender waist to prevent a vigorous tumble to the cobbles for the both of them.
Although…
“I do apologise,” he murmured, not yet releasing Mrs Locke.
With ringlets bouncing, her bonnetless head rose, body stiff as a new riding crop, a faintest quiver racking her bones, blue eyes so frosty they could shatter a clay pot; yet he relished the burn.
“Let me go!” she almost shrieked.
Instinct kicked in without thought. “Hush now, Mrs Lo–”
She recoiled from his hold, trembling hands pushed against his chest, all hauteur and firmed lips. “Do nothushme, Lord Ernest.”
Her breath was sharp and fierce, and he sought to ease her strange fright, so with a teasing smile, he released her and held up his leather-gloved palms. “Only with a ceaseless kiss would I ever wish to hush you, Mrs Locke.”
Her mouth dropped open…
Perhaps he’d overstepped his remit as a rake…
But then, thank hell, she tutted, lips twitching. “You are incorrigible, my lord.”
With a wink, he swept off his hat and bowed low. “I bid you welcome to our humble Wychmere Castle, Mrs Locke.”
DEPRAVED RAKEor compassionate enchanter of animals?
That was what Hebe wished to know in the cold light of day as she gave a curtsey, rolling her eyes at his elaborate welcome, determined not to be smothered by his preposterous charm.
“I came looking for you. Will you walk with me?” he requested. “In the gardens? I know we have not…set forth on the best hoof, so to speak, but I’m a normal fellow when you get to know me.”
She doubted that and at any other time, she might have cast a chill glance, rebuffed his offer and stalked off, but the image of him with that mare would not depart her mind. His utter tenderness and calm, his stroke of hand. The wary creature’s complete trust…
Depraved rake or compassionate enchanter?
“I expect the devil himself makes a similar claim,” she retorted.
“Perhaps, but I think you’d notice the proprietor of hell wasn’t your regular type of fellow by the curling smoke, scaly skin and nostril hair.” And he proffered a claret-sleeved arm.
She forced the laughter back down from whence it came – foolish man. “If you promise not to besiege me with ludicrous flattery, I would be delighted to walk with you.”
With a jerk of lip, he nodded.
Whatwasbeneath those layers and layers of London polish?
A self-indulgent rake who named his many horses after his many lovers?
Or a compassionate gentleman who tended distressed creatures in the dawn hours and who gallantly brought runaway curricles to a halt?
Which reminded her…
“Why did you purchase Mr Maddock’s curricle horses? He was most jubilant that you paid more than their worth.” They entered the garden beneath a bower of late-flowering roses – romantic, their scent arousing. Was the rake endeavouring to lead her from the path of virtue?
As she’d commented to Aunt on their arrival, one would have to stand one’s guard in this beguiling place as even the encircling flowers and droning bees appeared to be in cahoots with their master in creating this sensual ambience.
The weather had warmed, urging flowers and leaves to strive for the sun, and Hebe was forced to unbutton her pelisse.
“They would never suit city life after such an initiation,” he declared. “Then what would have happened? Sold for less to another hapless driver? Till they became unmanageable and…”
