Romancing the Rogue (8 page)

He waited, and Sophia thought he’d fallen into another trance before he answered himself. “Kinship.”

“Pardon?”

“Horse sense, a true phenomenon but seldom understood. Horses sense danger, weather, strength, and benevolence, or the lack thereof.”

The conversation had taken an uneasy turn. She had no idea what to say.

“You have a spine of steel and fire in your eyes, Rosalie. To have such a quality, one must be shaken to the foundation of one’s soul and put back together. I want to know how you emerged from hell made of steel and fire.”

Her eyes misted and she couldn’t look away. She saw the same in him: sorrow. Strength. Lord Devon had been to hell and back, too.

“Yes, you understand.” He seemed so gratified, and it made her want to burst into tears. His gentle camaraderie soothed her like cool water to a parched throat.

“Tell me, Rosalie. Once you decided you were made of fiery stuff, what did you do about it? No need to divulge secrets, but give me the nature of your actions. I must know.”

She had drugged her father, bound her injuries under layers of linen bandages, and escaped Eastleigh alone in a service coach, followed by three months of a high-stakes game of chase. “I ran away and didn’t look back.”

He nodded thoughtfully, as though she’d been forthcoming rather than cryptic. “Then I envy you, Rosalie. I did not fare so valiantly.”

“What did you do?”

“The opposite. I sought revenge.”

“And you regret it?”

He laughed coldly. “I should have listened to ages of poets and philosophers. I paid dearly for my folly.”

Another long silence hung between them while Wilhelm resumed stroking Sadie’s mane.

“I don’t see how we shall ever speak of books and politics again.” A poor attempt at humor, but she wasn’t feeling humorous at all.

“Then how about an inspector who requested an audience with the magistrate of Devon County this morning?”

Elise had already ambushed her with the article about her father and his investigators, and Sophia’s poor heart couldn’t take much more of a jolt. Her face probably peaked and she felt the blood drain to her feet. “Oh? And what did he want?”

“He notified me that a woman, the daughter of an English lord, had been abducted and was thought to have been spotted in the southern counties. He described the woman as aged thirty, tall and slender with dark hair and the look of Italian ancestry. Noticeably beautiful, to quote.”

“I know of no such woman.” Good, her voice emerged even and casual.

“I told him the same. For a while I wondered if he might mean you, but I didn’t say so, since you could not possibly be aged thirty.”

“I think I might be in love with you,” she joked.

Wilhelm chuckled. “Fine, but don’t tell Sadie. She is very jealous.”

Just like that, he’d expressed sympathy and pledged his loyalty, all without saying it directly. More importantly, he had accepted her anonymity and asked nothing in return.

“And now I had better run Thor before he kicks through the wall. Care to see what happens when he and Sadie race?”

He would let Sophia ride her? “I bet I can come back wearing a riding habit faster than you can saddle them both.”

“And if you win?”

“Chocolate-dipped strawberries to go with my peaches.”

“And if I win?” He raised a brow suggestively, and she couldn’t help smiling.

“What do you want, Lord Devon?” She lowered her voice in sultry teasing.

“A kiss.”

In Which Somebody Loses A Bet

I am not
running down the stairs.
Yes, she was. But at least she wouldn’t allow herself to be seen crossing the field in a gait more urgent than a stroll. All right, perhaps a brisk march would do… Her room was strewn with her petticoat, corset, and tea gown, as though her wardrobe had exploded. Of course she wanted chocolate-covered strawberries, but she also wanted to
win.

Or did she want Lord Devon to win? Did he want to win?

Before she passed through the open doors of the stables, she decided to hang back and let him prevail if he seemed in a panic to finish saddling the horses. But if he appeared to be taking his time, she would certainly claim her prize. Who was she to bully a man into kissing her?

Sophia peeked to see Lord Devon leaning against an empty stall, chewing on a piece of hay. As she approached, Sadie and Thor pawed the ground, their reins draped over the horns of their saddles.

“If you don’t mind, Rosalie, I think we should run the horses awhile before I claim my prize. Thor is impatient and he is making Sadie nervous. Considering the time of year, she may have a valid complaint if he doesn’t work off his aggression somewhere else, if you catch my meaning. Do you need help into the saddle?”

Lord Devon gripped his hands around her waist and lifted Sophia into the saddle, turning her sideways so she could hook her knee around the pommel and into the short stirrup. Blasted sidesaddle; she almost asked him to switch it for one she could ride astride when the sight of the buckle on the stirrup gave her pause. Contrary motion, the act of pulling one strap through the buckle while cinching the other.

“How did you manage the fastenings, may I ask?”

He mounted Thor with a grunt. “Did you fasten all the buttons on your clothes yourself?”

“Well, no, since my arms do not rotate backward. The upstairs maid assisted me, of course.”

“And that is what groomsmen are for — assistance. I won, fair and square.”

“Nothing fair about it! You had a crew of six
—
”

“Four, actually
—
”

“And I had to go over the grounds and up two flights of stairs and back.”

“It can hardly be my fault if you are slow
and
a poor gambler. I want my kiss.” Thor responded to an invisible cue and shot down the aisle and through the open doors as though fired from a cannon. Lord Devon ducked low, his unsportsmanlike
whoop
quickly growing fainter as he rode away.

Sadie whinnied in indignation and bolted the moment Sophia crouched low and whispered “Hiyah!” It was true — Sadie raced the wind. Her gait flowed so smoothly Sophia could barely feel any vertical force, as though the hooves never touched the ground. A grin grew wider on Sophia’s face, she squinted though a stream of wind-induced tears, and she laughed from sheer exhilaration. Ages since she’d experienced such a thrill of speed and rhythm mixed with a hint of danger. She would feel happy for a week on this moment alone, the matter with Lord Devon aside.

He gave no quarter. The guards at the gate wrenched the doors open just in time for him to fly past. Instead of turning to follow the road, he crossed the lane and jumped Thor over the fence and into a field. Sophia didn’t have to persuade or even cue Sadie — once she caught sight of Thor, she lowered her head and shot onward with an extra burst of speed.

“Crazy demon horse,” Sophia crooned to Sadie as she hunkered lower to balance the gait. At that point she was merely holding on and a little nervous, truth be told. Sidesaddle felt precarious at such a speed, and every fallen log and ditch Sadie leapt over reminded Sophia of her mother’s old refrain, “
You will break your neck!”
For once Sophia agreed.

Speaking of crazy, the more reckless the stunt, the more she heard Lord Devon laughing and cheering. Bedlamite. Sadie gained on them and edged left in preparation to overtake them, but Thor heard the approach and bolted again. Sophia had only seen such speed from horses at steeplechase and never such spirit. She hoped this would be a regular outing
—
without the betting
—
and that Lord Devon knew which corner of the earth the horses were taking them to. She didn’t recognize the trail. Probably because they made their own trail.

The late afternoon sun glinted ahead on a pond like light on a mirror, and finally Thor slowed. Sadie wasn’t satisfied until she drew even then inched ahead, her neck outstretched to claim an invisible finish line. Froth lathered on her shoulders and flanks. Both horses and riders breathed in heavy gusts by the time they pushed through the tree line and met the bank of the pond. Wilhelm dismounted with the vigor of a twelve-year-old boy, and Sophia tried not to groan like a stiff old crone when he lifted her down. Too long since she’d ridden, and she would pay dearly for it in the morning.

“A good soak in the bathhouse…” He paused to catch his breath. “Should take care of that.”

Sophia decided to sit where she landed and let him water the horses. Thor nudged Sadie with his head, and she blew a sharp snort that probably translated to,
Sod off, you pest.

Lord Devon looped the reins of each horse around a tree branch, then joined Sophia. He pulled off his gloves and shielded his eyes from the sun. “I don’t want to geld him, but I don’t want him mounting Sadie either…” He seemed to comprehend his musings were not polite conversation.

“I suppose she will either teach Thor a lesson he won’t forget, or let him do what horses do,” Sophia finished, enjoying his grimace.

He half-smiled, looking resigned, and dropped onto the grass beside her. “And which way is it for me?”

“Teach you a lesson or let you have your wicked way with me? Both, my lord.”

He leaned back on his elbows. “Both? At once? Or in small doses?”

“I tend to act as inspiration strikes
—
” She bit off calling him
my lord
again. She
could only think of him as Wilhelm now; formal address seemed impossible with him lounging in such a casual pose.

He squinted in the waning sunlight as he turned his head to smile at her, the crooked pirate grin that made heat rise in her cheeks. “And that should be my cue to catch your gaze, sober you with a meaningful expression, then lull you closer until your mouth is so near mine one of us has to move an inch to close the space.”

“For a man so eager to claim his prize, you sound grudging.”

“No. What you hear is anxiety.”

“You are anxious? Whatever for?”

He dropped his shoulders onto the ground and sighed. He lifted Sophia’s hand from her lap, peeled off her glove, and toyed with her thumbnail, tracing the edge over and over before answering, “I have never kissed a woman before.”

What on earth?
Sophia recovered herself, proud her only obvious reaction was a small hum. “Not true. Your aunt counts. And I think Sadie would take exception too,” she joked, but her stomach sank. He probably meant to confess that he… oh, she couldn’t even bear to think it.

Wilhelm stared at her hand, and his voice sounded low and tedious as he confessed. “So if I have never kissed a woman, then you can guess the rest. In truth I don’t know the first thing about making love in the practical sense.”

Sophia blinked, trying to sort through his meaning.

“In theory, I know more than I wish. I would scrub it from my brain if I could.”

“Wilhelm. What are you talking about?”

“I want to kiss you, Rosalie. But I don’t know how.”

What was this? Some game? Was he mocking her? Or did he have some sinister motive she had not yet anticipated, blinded by what she perceived as his benevolence?

“No need to look so disturbed. I only want a kiss. But you will have to teach me if I am to be any good at it.” He flashed his debonair grin, the one with dimples that made her heart kick into double time.

She decided to play his bizarre game. “Well, you have it set up properly: romantic scenery, a participating party…”

“Then what should I do? Roderick would lunge at his lady and devour her like a starving man having at it with a leg of lamb. Somehow I expect that would hardly please you.”

“Roderick, your late brother? I am sorry, ah
—
”

“Roderick was a lecher and degenerate. He paid dearly for his sins and left me with the ball and chain we call Rougemont. No sympathy necessary.”

“A harsh judgment.”

“You might change your mind if I told you how he expired, but I don’t want to spoil the mood. I am trying to tease a kiss out of you, after all.”

“So get on with it, Wilhelm.”

“First I must tug on your hand so you lean down over me.”

Sophia rested on one elbow and let him press her hand to his chest. He rubbed his fingers over hers, slowly up and down with the rougher skin of his hand rasping hers in a pleasant reminder of masculine and feminine. She felt his pulse under her hand; his heart pounded like a drum.

“I told you, I am anxious. Come a little closer, will you?”

Sophia leaned in, and he reached around her shoulders to slide her hat off. She grew tired of propping herself up, and the heat he radiated like a furnace was too tempting; she let herself lie over his chest while he unpinned her hair. The sun dipped lower over the hills while he stroked her hair in silence. He had probably fallen into one of his trances, but this was a pleasant one. Perhaps he’d forgotten about the kiss.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead. “Tell me your name.”

“No.”

He grazed his lips down her temple. “Heartless wench. My first kiss from a woman with a false name.”

Trying to ignore the lump of dread lodged in her throat at his mention of her thin disguise, she taunted, “I think you are merely stalling, Wilhelm.”

He traced her lips with the tip of his finger. “Is it so obvious? I was hoping you would lead the way, being that I am in uncharted territory.” He stroked along her jaw and down her throat until her anxiety dissolved, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Sophia was already giddy with the pleasant buzz of mild arousal from only his touch. Most likely he was toying with her, and she played right into his hands like a fool. Suppose she trifled with him instead? “Very well. Then I will stare at your mouth and bite my lip, which will make
you
stare at
my
mouth.”

He let go of her hand, and she raised her fingers to rub the line of his jaw from the slight dimple in his chin to the little muscle in the corner that twitched. He never stayed clean-shaven for long; it made him look a bit rustic.

His breath quickened and his lips parted as he stared. “An effective manipulation. I cannot look away, and now I have this embarrassing urge to lick you.” His voice sounded low and smooth with a hint of flirtation, like chocolate liqueur.

She did it first. She slid her hand behind his neck and drew his face to hers then ghosted the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip.

He rumbled with a wolflike growl then broke into an absurd smile. “Do that again, woman, and I might drop dead.”

Sophia lowered her mouth to his and painstakingly closed her lips over his. He was slow to respond, as though he truly had no idea how to kiss. She gave him another short kiss. “Do it back, Wilhelm.”

He tried, puckering too much. Boyish. A bit limp. She took control, showing him again, rolling her lips over his, then again but harder. “Tilt your head to the left, and I’ll go the other way, so we don’t bump noses.”

Either he was a quick study or a hustler. He cupped her face and kissed her back, tenderly at first then aggressively like sparring, like the way they argued. Intoxicating how his pine-leather-mint-cognac scent became a flavor. She hummed in her throat, he hummed back, a mutual agreement of pleasure. He was thorough, patient, as though he would be content to kiss all day and do nothing else. Maybe she imagined the hungry edge to his style — the occasional nip with his teeth or stroke of his tongue.

Sophia found herself kneading his shoulders, restless in his easy embrace and frustrated by not being close enough. He responded with calm, doing nothing more than rubbing the sides of her throat with his thumbs. Oh, he had reeled her in all right. He made her feel wild and greedy, and by all accounts, he seemed leisurely. What a fool she was.

Sophia paused and raised herself on her elbows to look at him, hating that she had to catch her breath.

“Did I pass muster?” He made his wily half-smile-half-smirk, and her heart danced.

“After some practice, I suppose so.”
If the fire burning me from the inside out is any indication.
She rested her chin on her fist, uncaring that her elbow dug into his ribs. “Wilhelm, does this mean anything at all to you?” She stared him down, daring him to joke when she was deadly serious.

He shifted beneath her, sliding his hips against hers, and she had her answer.
Oh, my.
He pressed his lips into a line and raised a brow in apology.

Typical man; ask about the state of his affections, and he’ll answer with his cock.