After the Kiss (13 page)

His front door rattled, and he set Isabel down so quickly she stumbled. With a curse he put out a hand to steady her as the door opened. “Let’s go, Lady Isabel,” he said, turning the caress into a gentlemanly offer of assistance. “Unless you wish me to forgo today’s instruction.”

She swallowed, the skin of her cheeks rosy. “You said it would set Zephyr back to miss a day. So yes, please, let’s be going. I don’t make a habit of tracking down tardy employees, whatever you may think.”

“Or kissing them,” he whispered into her hair as she passed by him.

Isabel wanted him about. So whatever Dunston might warn about staying away from Chalsey House and stepping back from Oliver’s…whatever it was, he would stay, until he either came to his senses or someone did manage to put a ball through him.

Isabel looked over her shoulder again as Douglas turned the curricle onto the Chalsey House drive. A few yards behind them Sullivan rode on his monstrous stallion, another horse in tow. The chestnut mare would be the one he’d decided she
needed to ride. And at the moment she felt as apprehensive about speaking with him again as she did about actually sitting on a horse.

When she was with her friends, or dancing at one of the hundred balls scheduled for the Season, she knew how ridiculous it was to even think about kissing the unacknowledged, natural son of the Marquis of Dunston. In his presence, though, she could think of nothing else.

As a child she’d been the one to jump into the lake first, and she’d climbed more trees than either brother, mostly because they’d told her not to. She always got what she wanted, from dresses to beaux. Was that it? Sullivan Waring was something she wasn’t supposed to have? Was that what attracted her?

She glanced back at him again. He swung down from his mount, handing off the reins of both horses to Phipps. Very well, the forbidden fruit aspect was part of the attraction. As was the mystery of him. After seeing him with Lord Dunston, though, she nearly had his puzzle pieced together. And he attracted her even more now than he had before.

He had a better education than some of the men who courted her, or at least he had a better understanding of what he’d learned than a great many others. He spoke his mind, even though their social rankings said that he shouldn’t. And he…understood her fears and her determination as well as her own family.

He looked over at her, and a slight smile touched his sensuous mouth. Her heart beat faster in response. As her father and Phillip emerged from the house, she set the haughty expression back on her face. After all, he was still in her employ. And now he’d stolen from a duke. And as long as she wanted him to continue kissing her, she had no choice but to keep that a secret, as well.

“There you are,” her father said, coming forward to help her down from the carriage. “Whatever you and Barbara found so urgent, I would appreciate more information than ‘I’m leaving for a bit.’”

“Apologies, Papa.” Isabel said, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

“I did go along,” Douglas said offhandedly. “I think I could manage to protect Tibby’s virtue.”

Phillip snorted. “You couldn’t even protect your own virtue.”

“I say! That is not—”

“Enough, children. I am off to do my accounts. Pray behave yourselves.”

The viscount returned to the house. Phillip was chatting about something with Sullivan, while Douglas joined them to hang on every word.

“Are you going to ride today, Tibby?” her older brother asked, motioning at the chestnut mare.

Swallowing hard, her hands beginning to shake, she shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“May I fetch Zephyr for you, Mr. Waring?” Douglas interjected.

“If you can be calm about it,” Sullivan returned.

“I’m always calm.”

Phillip laughed. “You’re frightening
me
at the moment. But be quick about it, will you? You’ll make us late for our appointment at Hoby’s.”

“Zooks! I forgot.” Douglas hurried off to the stable, Phillip trailing behind him.

“So are you, poppet?”

Isabel turned to face Sullivan. “Am I what?”

“Going to ride today.”

“Oh.” She shrugged, clasping her hands behind her back
so he wouldn’t see them tremble.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you ever sat in a saddle?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s begin with that, shall we?” Sullivan started for the stable and motioned for her to join him.

“I’m still giving the orders, you know,” she stated. As distracted as she felt by his mere presence, it wouldn’t do for him to think he could now order her about just because they’d kissed several times.

He stopped. “What shall we do now, then, Lady Isabel?”

Isabel lifted her chin. “Take me to the stable, so I might learn about sitting on a horse.”

“As you wish.”

“What’s to keep it from rolling over on me?” Isabel asked skeptically, nudging the tipped-over barrel with one toe.

“I will.” Sullivan squatted in front of it, a knee on either side. “It’s perfectly safe.”

He’d placed her sidesaddle over the barrel and cinched it securely to the rotund middle, but however strong and capable he appeared, she had her doubts that he’d be able to keep her from landing on her backside the moment she sat down. Isabel eyed him again. “This looks very silly.”

“But it’s low to the ground, and it won’t walk off with you.” He tilted his head, that gold-shot strand of hair obscuring one green eye. “Why are you protesting? It’s a hollow hunk of wood and metal. And no one else is going to say anything.”

She grimaced. “Very well. You have a point.” Gathering
her skirts, she sidled up to the barrel and awkwardly sat, looping one knee around the saddle’s cantle. “I’m not precisely dressed for this.”

“You did it well, though.”

“Oh, please. As you pointed out, it’s a hunk of wood.”

A quick smile softened his mouth as he crouched, gazing up at her. Goodness, she wanted to kiss him. Phipps and several of the other stableboys continued to meander about the stable, though, so she didn’t dare. And not being able to made her want to even more.

“Do you feel secure?”

“You’re not going to spin me about, are you?”

“No.”

“Then yes, I feel fairly secure.”

“Good.” He looked away. “Phipps, hand me a bridle, will you?” The head groom brought one over, and using a free hand Sullivan draped it over his own shoulders and then handed her the reins. “The height’s a bit off, but it’s fairly close. You hold them in whichever hand you’re more comfortable, and without wrapping them around anything, run the ends through your other hand, in case you lose them.”

“‘Lose them’?” she repeated, shivering.

“It’s not likely to happen, but I don’t want you to be surprised if it does.”

With a tight nod she held the reins as he instructed, loosening her fists a little when he pointed out that the cow the bridle had been made from was already deceased. She knew he was trying to set her at ease, and she appreciated it, but they both knew that sitting on a barrel was an ocean apart from sitting on a horse.

Using a surprising amount of patience and understanding, he showed her how to turn an animal, how to hold on if things became rough, and how to exert her will on a stub
born mount. All the while he had a bridle draped over his head, demonstrating as he spoke. Her heart did several odd flip-flops. She couldn’t imagine anyone else in her acquaintance, employee or not, being as patient or thorough, or willing to look so silly for her benefit.

“May I ask you a question?”

Sullivan stopped tugging against the reins. “You seem to, whether I want you to or not.”

“I know I asked you before, but do you paint?”

He blew out his breath. “I used to sketch sometimes. Not for years, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not skilled enough to be able to make a living at it, and I can’t afford to be idle.” He shifted, a quick grimace crossing his lean face. “I think it’s either time for you to attempt riding an actual horse, or for me to take Zephyr out for some work.”

Grabbing on to his shoulder, she carefully stood again. Even crouching as he was, he felt solid as a rock beneath her fingers. No padding there; just hard, well-earned muscle. She swallowed, reluctantly releasing him. “Perhaps I could mount while the horse is in its stall,” she suggested.

Pulling off the bridle, he straightened, looming over her. “No,” he returned, carefully stretching out his left leg. “If she fidgets, you could end with a crushed leg. And then you wouldn’t be able to dance.”

That sounded almost like an insult, but she wasn’t about to argue the point. Instead she watched as he flexed his knee again. “Is that where you received your splinter?”

Sullivan nodded. “The bandage is holding, so I won’t trouble about it. So you or Zephyr, poppet?”

She liked when he called her poppet. He placed it where someone of her own rank might use her familiar name,
when he wasn’t supposed to. And it kept him from calling her Lady Isabel every moment. “What’s the other horse’s name?” she asked, her voice shaking at the edges.

“Molly. She’s fifteen, and a companion mare for fidgety animals. I’ve never seen her make a false step, and she doesn’t like to trot, much less gallop.”

“Are you saying I’m fidgety?”

His mouth curved up at the edges again. “A bit high-strung, perhaps.”

Isabel took a deep breath, holding it for a long moment. A thousand excuses ran through her mind, along with the thought that if she refused to ride today, her father would probably have Sullivan take Zephyr away and she wouldn’t have an excuse to see him any longer. And that now seeing him had less to do with knowing what he might be up to, and more to do with her…liking having him about.

“Will you hold Molly?”

“Absolutely. You have my word.”

“Then I shall ride a horse.”

He hadn’t expected her to agree. Isabel Chalsey had more backbone than he might have previously given her credit for. As she hurried into the house to change into a riding dress, he put the training bridle back on its hook and answered the usual questions about breeding and grooming and training put to him by the stableboys.

Even as he did that and then led Molly around the stable yard a few times to familiarize her with the footing, he was considering Isabel. She still ordered him about, but more as an amusement or an afterthought than because he frightened her. It seemed to be meant to distract him, and everyone else, from realizing…what? That she liked him?

If she’d been some married, bored, worldly lady, he would
have simply bedded her once or twice and then gone on his way. He used her kind for amusement and a bit of revenge for being left out of the inner circle, he supposed. Some of the chits were amusing, and he wouldn’t say he hated them, but everyone involved took it for what it was—a night or two’s fun, with nothing more wanted or expected.

Isabel Chalsey was more complicated. If she’d been some parson’s daughter, or even a baron’s youngest or some such thing, a union between them would have been possible, if not popular. But she was the only daughter of a marquis.

Sullivan shook himself.
Union?
Where the devil had that come from? It had been several delicious kisses, a handful of enjoyable conversations, and some heated thoughts. And whatever images his mind might conjure, her lineage and the circumstances of his birth would never change.

She emerged from the house, and his breathing stilled. He hadn’t known she even owned a riding outfit, but by God she did—and she looked…edible in it. Hunter-green and black, it hugged her figure in all the right places, the skirt flaring out over her black riding boots. Sullivan attempted to conjure thoughts of mud and harsh, cold winds, but with her swaying hips and bright, nervous gaze she melted them all away.
Christ
.

“Well, let’s get on with it before I lose my nerve,” she said, eyeing Molly at his shoulder.

Right. Now was not the time for compliments or drooling or other distractions. Especially as he glanced toward the house to see her parents standing in front of the sitting room window, watching. They looked at least as nervous as Isabel did. Understandable, but with Isabel it could be a problem.

“The worst thing that could possibly happen to you is that you’ll lose your seat and fall in the mud,” he said, leading the mare over to the raised stone mounting block.

“I actually don’t want to hear that, Mr. Waring.”

“I know, but you need to understand that a possibly muddy dress is all you’re facing. And I won’t let even that happen.”

“You have a great deal of confidence in yourself.” She favored him with a smile that was obviously forced. “Not that I wish you to be wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.” He held out his right hand, his left holding Molly by the bridle.

After another hesitation Isabel stepped up onto the block. Steadying herself with his hand, she hopped up into the saddle. The fair skin of her face had paled to an alarming degree, but she stayed where she was. Only her coloring and her fierce grip on his fingers gave away the fact that she was terrified.

Molly’s ears flicked back and forward. “Say something nice to her,” Sullivan instructed. “She’s worried that you don’t like her.”

“
She’s
worried?” Isabel visibly shook herself. “Good girl, Molly. You’re such a good horse.”

Sullivan continued to be more and more impressed. To most people it would seem like nothing, but he understood fear. And he understood how much courage it took to overcome it. “Very nice,” he said soothingly. “Hold the reins as you practiced, and I’ll walk her about the yard.”

With a tight nod, Isabel took the reins. He doubted a cannonball could blow her hold loose, but since he was doing the guiding, he didn’t comment. Instead, with a slow breath and a quick prayer that everything would proceed precisely as he intended, he led Molly out into the middle of the yard.

Clearly he’d chosen the right horse for her. Used to fearful animals, Molly probably considered Isabel to be just another skittish foal. “How do you feel?” he ventured aloud.

“Good,” Isabel answered tentatively. “It’s very rolly.”

He chuckled. “You should attempt riding a camel. I nearly became ill.”

“You’ve ridden a camel?”

“A Spaniard had several on his land. Interesting animals. They spit, you know. Quite accurately. But you’d have to ask Bram Johns about that.”

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of her patting Molly’s neck with one hand, but he pretended not to notice. Inside, though, he was cheering. Whatever mess she’d caused and could cause for him, these past weeks had been worthwhile ones.

And considering that he’d nearly been shot last night, and not even taking into account his general feelings toward the aristocracy, that was something he’d never expected to admit, even to himself.

“Well done, Tibby,” Lord Darshear called, grinning as he and his wife came outside through the kitchen door.

The marchioness clapped. “You look quite the horsewoman, my dear.”

Sullivan smiled; he couldn’t help it. He’d begun the day late, was going to spend far more than his usual thirty minutes at Chalsey House, and was likely to miss an appointment with Lord Massey as a result. It didn’t matter.

After three complete circles around the yard, he could see her relaxing a little, her back straightening, and her hold on the reins becoming looser. “Do you want to guide her to the step?” he asked.

“How far away are you going to be?”

“Three inches.”

Isabel gathered up the reins again, testing her hold. “Very well. No more than three inches.”

“My aim shall be two.”

He let go of the bridle, falling back half a step to stay even with Isabel in case he needed to pull her from the sidesaddle. She clucked, tugging the reins to the right. Amateurish and tentative, but Molly veered to the right.
Good horse
.

Once they reached the stone mounting block, he took the reins and looped them through the hitching post ring. Then he lifted his arms and Isabel practically leapt onto his chest, hugging him tightly. “I did it,” she whispered fiercely. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

For the space of a heartbeat he hugged her slender form, then made a show of setting her feet onto the ground. “I only provided the horses. The courage is yours. Congratulations, poppet.”

As she headed over to her parents, Sullivan caught sight of movement by the carriage drive. Oliver stood there, his expression grim enough to rust nails. Sullivan allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before he shifted his attention to Tilden’s companions. Isabel’s friend Lady Barbara and another chit stood there with Oliver. As he watched, the two girls whispered to one another and then glanced at him. A cold breeze went up his spine.

Had they seen her embrace him? He had to assume so. And while Oliver wasn’t likely to risk making a row, he had no idea of the loyalty of the chits to Isabel. And he’d never put much faith in the kindness of the aristocracy.
Bloody hell
.

“Lady Isabel?” he called. “Do you wish me to put up Molly and take Zephyr out for her exercise?”

Surprised, Isabel looked over at Sullivan. He’d never asked her permission for anything before. Then she caught his glance toward the side of the house and followed his gaze.
Oh, dear
. “Yes, please do,” she returned, leaving her parents in order to go greet her friends.

“That’s not your new mare, is it?” Eloise Rampling asked. “She’s ancient!”

“I haven’t ridden much,” Isabel said defensively. “I wanted a bit more practice before I took on a newly broken animal.”

“But Mr. Waring says he doesn’t break horses,” Barbara put in with an amused smile. “He
tames
them.”

“He seems to have tamed someone,” Eloise noted.

“Oh, please.” Isabel forced a grin. “Do come inside so I can change. Will you wait, Oliver?”

Lord Tilden stirred. “Yes, of course. If you still wish to go shopping today.”

“I have never passed by an opportunity to go shopping.”

“And neither have I,” Barbara added. “You looked very fine in the saddle, Tibby.”

She sent her friend a grateful smile. “Then come along,” she said aloud. “Cook’s been baking biscuits all morning.” Cook always baked biscuits in the morning, but it sounded like a good distraction. Obviously they’d all seen her hug Sullivan, and the more quickly they forgot about it, the better.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.

On the other hand, she’d thanked a man because he’d helped her with something. She hadn’t hugged him because he’d kissed her and she’d enjoyed it. But she still felt as though she’d done something wrong. She snuck a glance back at Sullivan to see him look quickly away from her. This was so much more complicated than her trying to keep an eye on a burglar. It had probably always been more complicated than that.