Taken by Storm (8 page)

“Get in the chaise.”

Shareb-er-rehh flung up his head and flattened his ears.

“But—”

“I said,
get in the chaise
.”

Giving him a victorious grin, she raised her brows and climbed delicately up into the vehicle. There she sat, head bent, her lips twitching as she made a great pretense of straightening her sleeve.

Colin, his blood pounding, set his jaw. Well, she might’ve scored a hit, the little imp, but she wouldn’t win this battle.

No way in bloody hell.

Did
he have beautiful eyes?

“You know, Dr. Lord, I think this is going to be a very exciting adventure, don’t you?” she said airily, coaxing Bow into her lap and behaving as though the contact between them had never happened. “And oh, how funny it will be, that the whole countryside will be searching for a highborn lady dressed in the height of fashion when the real Lady Ariadne will be sneaking past under their very noses disguised as a boy! Isn’t it grand, Dr. Lord? Am I not clever? And what do you think my Maxwell will say when he sees me thus?”

“I don’t know your Maxwell. I have no idea what he’ll say.”

“Well, what would
you
think, Dr. Lord, if it was
your
betrothed who showed up on your doorstep dressed in a man’s clothes?”

“I’d think she had the wrong doorstep.”

“I’m serious! What would you think?”

“I suppose I wouldn’t care how she was dressed, as long as I loved her and she arrived safe and sound.”

“Have you ever been in love, Dr. Lord?”

“Briefly.”

“Have you ever
wanted
to be in love?”

“About as much as I wanted scurvy,” he lied, walking to the stallion’s head and taking a firm grip on the reins just below its chin.

“Be serious, sir! This is important business we’re discussing. You are a very handsome man, you know. Why, if our stations were equal, and Papa hadn’t betrothed me to Maxwell, I might even take a fancy to you myself.”

“And why is that?”

“Why is what?”

Backing the horse up with one hand on its chest, he impaled her with his direct gaze, trying to put her off-balance as she had so successfully done with him. “Why would you take a fancy to me?”

“I—” Color swept through her cheeks. “Dr. Lord, that is
not
a very polite question to ask a lady.”

“Regardless, I have asked it, and should you decide not to answer, ‘twill be you who is being impolite.”

“Very well then,” she said, a bit huffily. “I would fancy you because . . .”

Her face went crimson, and she looked away.

“Yes?” he goaded, pleased to have turned the tables on her at her own game. “Because why?”

Her chin shot up and she stared straight ahead. “I have no wish to further this conversation.”

“A pity. And here I thought I was going to be enlightened as to why a beautiful young heiress might take a fancy to me. Such a cruel and unfair world, this! Never mind.”

“Dr. Lord?”

He was hard-pressed to contain his grin. “Yes, my lady?”

She was still staring ahead, spine as straight as a frigate’s mainmast, hands fisted between her knees. “I think it’s time we leave.”

Shareb-er-rehh, however, had other ideas.

Ariadne was quick to recognize the alarm and indignation in the stallion’s eyes. “Really, Dr. Lord, I think this is a very bad idea. You’re asking for trouble, I tell you.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“No he won’t. Look at him, you can see how angry he is. He gets very unpredictable when he’s angry—”

Colin tried again to urge the stallion forward, but the horse only hunched his back and froze, one hind leg coming up with dangerous intent. Ariadne couldn’t prevent her smug smile; but then the animal doctor called a firm command and this time, Shareb-er-rehh moved ahead, not smoothly, not confidently, but in jolting, frightened rabbit-leaps that made his mane and tail snap out in the wind with each violent motion and nearly dislocated Ariadne’s head from her neck.

“You are right, he possesses very unusual gaits,” the veterinarian observed dryly. “I should think he is a most uncomfortable animal to ride.”

“Very—funny—
Doctor
Lord,” she managed, between the erratic jolts.

“How on earth do you sit to such motion?”

“Years of practice.”

Ears flattened, Shareb moved forward, his head and neck at an unnaturally high angle, his lips pulled back in an angry grimace, his mouth dripping foam. Despite the fact that blinkers hid his eyes, Ariadne knew the dark orbs were wild and ringed with white.

But he was moving, and Ariadne had to admit grudging admiration for the veterinarian’s skill. Pulling a chaise was a lot to ask of an untrained horse, especially one who had been bred to do something entirely different.

Yes, I
am
glad I chose
him
to be Shareb’s doctor
, she thought, despite her earlier views to the contrary.
There is something about him, something I cannot quite put my finger on . . . something more than his gentle strength, his quiet demeanor, his dry humor. He is smart, strong, and sensible, and I feel safe when he is near.

Now that was an odd notion. Safe?

Safe. But how long before she dared trust him enough with the truth about what Shareb
really
was?

Gait-horse, indeed!

The jerky, jolting motion began to ease off as Shareb-er-rehh found his stride, and his confidence, and soon the stallion’s head had returned to its proper angle and the powerful hindquarters were churning in a fast trot. The veterinarian guided him out of the little courtyard, and shaking his head, Shareb moved into the street, his hoofbeats echoing loudly against the buildings that rose up on either side.

“Why, this is actually
fun
! Imagine, Shareb-er-rehh, pulling a chaise! My goodness, I never thought to see the day—can you believe how well behaved he’s being? And here I thought we’d both be killed by now! Give me the reins, Dr. Lord,
I
want to try driving him!”

Such boundless delight was infectious. Colin chuckled, the wind on his face, buildings and glimpses of the silvered Thames passing in a blur as Shareb-er-rehh’s fast, ground-eating trot sped them through London. As he’d predicted, his charge wasn’t so hard to manage, after all.

The horse was one thing.

Her Ladyship was quite another.

His mouth still tingled where she had touched it, her comment about his eyes still rang in his head, both awakening some unexplored part of his soul that responded to the attention and wanted more. He was unused to having a woman, especially a lady, behave so boldly toward him, and he wasn’t quite sure whether he liked it or not. Well, he thought he must like it, but he was unsure how to respond to it. Maybe the little flirt was just trying to upset his even keel. Maybe she was just trying out her own feminine wiles on someone she perceived as “safe.” Or maybe she was calculatedly paying him back for winning the upper hand with regards to the twelve thousand pounds, or even harnessing the stallion. He didn’t know. But what he
did
know, was that if she persisted on tormenting him so, he would see no recourse but to give her a taste of her own medicine.

And had no reservations about doing so.

Now, her thigh was a hair’s breadth away, her piquant face too close to his own as she gazed eagerly into his eyes, waiting for his answer. Such scrutiny was enough to send the blood pounding through his heart at a clip that, coupled with her childlike joy at breezing along through the streets of London, was totally disarming.

Now, he felt the pressure of her hand over his, her fingers against his knuckles as she playfully tried to pry the rein free. “Please, Dr. Lord, let me drive, it’s
my
turn!”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s put the city behind us, first. Then you may drive all you like.”

“Now see here, he’s
my
horse and I’m sure I can handle him!”

“Fine.” He shrugged and handed her the reins. “Take him, then.”

Shooting him a triumphant glare, she raised her chin and took the reins loosely in her hands. But her smugness was quick to change to worry as she realized her folly. Shareb-er-rehh immediately stepped up his trot. Her hands tightened around the reins. Shareb pulled harder. Her hands became fists. The stallion shook his head, fighting her. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her knuckles went white, and she planted her feet against the floorboards as the stallion’s brute strength began to pull her straight out of her seat—

“Fine day, isn’t it?” Colin mused, leaning back in the seat and pretending an interest in the tangles of ivy that choked the wall of a passing house.

“Lovely,” she managed, through clenched teeth.

“Got any more of that pastry?”

“There’s a man for you, always thinking of his stomach.”

Colin grinned. Most of the men he knew put other needs before their stomach’s, but he kept the remark to himself out of respect for her gender, her innocence, and her status. And as for such “needs” . . . he was all too aware of a tightening in his breeches at the closeness of the female who sat beside him. Damn him if he wasn’t getting hard.

They weren’t even out of London. How on earth was he going to survive this trip to Norfolk?

He glanced over at his employer. Her cheeks were flushed with wind and the effort of holding the horse back, and her mouth was tight with determination. The stallion shook his head, trying to take the bit in his teeth and run.

“Having problems?” he asked, raising a brow and enjoying her obvious distress.

“I told you he was not a carriage horse. And I have no wish to drive a horse while you sit there and enjoy the scenery. Not that the scenery in this particular area of the city is particularly enjoyable, mind you. Here, take him back.”

Colin, grinning, pulled the sack of pastry out from beneath the seat. “I think I’d much rather eat my breakfast.”

She all but stuffed the reins in his hands. “I said, take him back!”

“And how do you expect me to eat if I am to hold the reins?”

“I don’t particularly care how you eat! Next you’ll be asking me to feed you!”

Firmly taking the reins, he brought the stallion back under control. “Now, there’s an idea . . .”

She stared at him, eyes beginning to glint with deviltry. Or malice. It was impossible to tell which.

“Very well then, Dr. Lord,” she purred. He raised a brow, wondering what she was up to as she took the sack, opened it, and peered within. “Let’s see . . . we have apple . . . plum . . . blackcurrant—”

“Plum’s fine.”

“Plum it is, then.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a thick, sugary wedge of pastry oozing globs of fruit filling. A mischievous smile curving her mouth, she held the pastry up to his lips. “Open your mouth, sir—”

Colin had no choice but to comply, and opened his jaws exaggeratedly wide so as to avoid having her fingers touch his lips.

The chaise hit a bump and they did anyhow. Sweet, sticky fruit and flaky pastry jammed against his teeth, and with them, her fingers.

An electric charge rocked him at the contact.

She blushed, and laughed. “Oh! Well, let’s try that again. Open up, good doctor! Say,
aaaaah
!”

God, help me,
he thought, every cell in his body beginning to throb, to ache, to burn.

He shut his eyes, briefly, and again opened his mouth. This time she got enough of the pastry in that he was able to get a bite of it. One of Shareb’s ears was straight back, listening, and immediately the horse slowed its pace.

Colin rapped the reins against the powerful hindquarters.

“Another bite, Dr. Lord?

“Just one,” he managed, swallowing, “then give the rest to Bow.”

She held the pastry up to him once again, her gaze fastened on his mouth, her fingers touching his lips. He caught the scent of horse sweat on her sleeve, the hint of lavender wafting from her skin. Her eyes sparkled with humor, as though she knew just how difficult she was making his life, as though she knew just what she was about. In all probability, he thought wryly, she did.

God help you, young lady. You can’t rattle me
that
easily.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have very beautiful eyes, Dr. Lord?”

Colin nearly choked on his pastry.

“You’re a very handsome man, you know. And I think you should smile more often, as it is such a direct contrast to that intent look you usually wear. Are you sure you don’t have a lady friend? Or two? I cannot imagine that you spend your life all alone.”

“This conversation is most inappropriate.”

Ariadne felt her lips twitching helplessly, for she’d discovered the chink in this stoic, unflappable man’s armor, and, still smarting over his high-handed attitude, she was determined to press home her advantage. “Don’t you like it when a lady pays you a compliment?”

He didn’t answer, merely directing his gaze straight ahead, a nerve twitching along his jaw.

“Well?”

He turned his quiet, direct stare on her, letting it rake heatedly over her face, down her neck, and to her bosom, where it lingered long enough to make her feel as though she wasn’t wearing anything at all. Her throat went dry, and her face felt suddenly hot and damp.

“As a matter of fact,” he said slowly, raising his gaze back to hers, “. . . I do.”

Coloring furiously, Ariadne looked away.

“So . . . no more compliments?” he said, lifting one brow in warning.

“You’ll get them when you deserve them,” she snapped. “Drive on.”

He shrugged, leaving her to squirm uncomfortably on the seat and wish there were ten miles separating their thighs instead of a mere two inches. She was uncomfortably aware of his male power and heat, the scent of his clean clothes and body, the way the sun slanted down through his eyes and found the purple in them.

Five minutes passed. Ten.

She rubbed at her palm, raw where the reins had chafed it. The chaise hit a dip in the street and the doctor’s thigh bumped her own.

She moved over, trying to get away.

He glanced at her, watching her with a look of high amusement.