A Baron in Her Bed (10 page)

The steps took him down to a long narrow storage room, pitch black and stuffy. He moved along the walls but could detect no sign of a door. After a frustrated hour of searching, he gave up and returned upstairs.

He must deal with the matters at hand. Eustace certainly, but first… He paused and smiled. Simon.

Chapter Seven

When Monday came, Horatia picked at her breakfast and ate even less at luncheon, drawing concerned comments from her father. Just to please him, she forced down several mouthfuls of cold beef.

At half past one, she excused herself from the library where her father smoked his pipe and read a periodical. She hurried upstairs and donned the groom’s clothing, her fingers stumbling over the hidden button on the fall-front breeches.

As she passed the kitchen, she heard Jim, the stable boy, chatting to Cook. He had needed no urging when Horatia suggested he sample the biscuits and cakes fresh from the oven.

It was blustery and cold, but snow had not fallen for days. The ground was mushy with melted ice, and heavy grey clouds hung overhead. Horatia hesitated as the wind whipped around the corner of the house, a gelid touch on the bare skin at her nape. She’d forgotten her scarf. She shook her head and hurried towards the cozy warmth of the stables. It would be flying in the face of fortune to return to the house for it, and it wouldn’t be needed if she kept to the shadows.

The stables were empty and satisfactorily gloomy. The General whickered a greeting. Simon had gone off to the village apothecary to fetch her father’s medicine. That was the only excuse she could think of, but as he would soon be in need of it, the order caused no comment.

She patted The General’s nose and fed him an apple. By the time the last of it had disappeared, she heard the clip of a horse’s hooves on the gravel drive. She peeped out of the barn door and saw the baron, tall in the saddle, riding towards the house.

Horatia stepped out and beckoned him. He caught sight of her and rode towards the stables then dismounted and led the horse inside.

“Sorry, my lord,” Horatia said, adopting Simon’s gruff voice. “We have no footman here. No under-groom neither. I’ll stable your horse.”

“Simon, good fellow,” he said warmly. “I came to thank you again. I am indebted to you.”

“No need for that, my lord,” she said. “Everything’s right and tight here as it happens.” She turned her back to lead his horse into one of the stalls. Seizing a brush, she bent and swept it over the horse’s flanks.

He came to rest an arm on the stall door. “I am relieved. If you had lost your job, I was going to ask you to work for me.”

She straightened to brush the horse’s back, confident of the poor light. “Mighty good of you, my lord. But not at all necessary.”

“Eh bien, merci encore.”
He turned towards the door.

Relieved it had gone so well, Horatia stepped out from behind the horse. She looked up to see if he had gone and found him watching her with his arms folded.

The elation left her, and she took a deep, shaky breath.

“Did you really think you could go on fooling me?” A note of outrage lay beneath the humorous tone in his voice. “How many people around here have red hair like yours?”

“My hair’s not red,” she said, incensed. “It’s chestnut.”

“I wondered how far you would carry this ruse, Miss Cavendish.”

She backed into an empty stall as he strode towards her.

He followed her inside. Reaching over, he whipped off her hat, and her hair came loose and tumbled around her face. “So, what do you have to say in your defense?”

“Nothing, my lord.” Horatia lifted her chin, her heart pounding loud in her ears. She chewed her lip. She would have to brazen this out.

Annoyed blue eyes stared into hers. “I do not like to be toyed with. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“Pardon?”

“Watching you bend over in those breeches.
Zut
! From the first I felt a strong attraction to you. And then, when I saw you dressed as a woman, I understood.”

“You knew it was me at the dance?” She scowled. “And you deliberately teased me?”

“Don’t you think you deserved it?” He seized her shoulders and gave them a shake. “You tricked me. Why?”

She swallowed. “No trickery, my lord. I was dressed this way when I found you, if you recall. I needed to keep up the pretense.”

He shrugged. “But why do you dress like that?”

She couldn’t explain her restlessness to him and tossed her head. “I prefer to ride astride.”

He raised a brow. “You like a strong beast moving beneath you?”

She bristled at the insult. “I like to ride alone.” He made it sound as if she gained some sort of indecent enjoyment from the exercise. Her face heated. To ride astride was unfeminine, she knew, but that fact had never bothered her before.

“But to do so places you in peril.”

Horatia drew herself up. “I can handle myself as well as a man.”

“You believe that, do you?” His gaze flicked over her. What was he thinking? She quivered under his scrutiny.

“We spent the night in the same bed,” he said finally.

The indecency of it made her want to block her ears. “I remember quite well, my lord,” she murmured. “Nothing happened between us.”

“Stop calling me my lord,” he barked. “While I was half-conscious, I told you all my secrets, confound it!”

So, that was what worried him. Horatia’s agitated breath eased a little. “You have nothing to fear from me, my… Guy. You can trust me to keep close counsel.”

“I spoke to you as one man to another,
zut
!” He shook his head. “Now you’ve got me cursing!”

“I’ve heard far worse from your lips,” she said with a wry smile.

“You deserved to,” he said coolly. He appeared to rein in his temper and leaned against a post to shred a piece of straw.

“Really, your confessions were a mere trifle,” Horatia fibbed. She began to enjoy her new sense of power. “You French are so excitable. You place great importance on something of little consequence.”

“You think that, do you?” His voice sounded dangerously honeyed as he shoved away from the post and stalked towards her.

Horatia stifled a nervous giggle when she realized she’d gone too far. She watched him change from a preparedness to listen to the unleashed power of an angry male.

She backed away until the wall of the stall jutted against her spine. “I believe we should go to the house,” she said in a shaky voice. “Father will be wondering where I am.”

He towered over her. “
Oui,
and how he will enjoy your mode of dress.” He offered her his arm. “Allow me to escort you.”

Now he thought he had the upper hand, curse him. Horatia gulped down her alarm and tried to appeal to his better nature; she was fairly confident he had one. It was just she, most probably, who brought out the worst in him. “Please… Lord Fortescue, will you allow me to go and change? And keep my secret?” She began to walk around him, but he stopped her, a hand on her arm.

“What will you give me in exchange?”

She pulled her arm free. “There is nothing I can give you.”

His gaze went to her mouth. “Oh
oui
, there is much you can give me.”

Horatia drew in a long anxious breath. What was he suggesting? Surely not... A nervous thrill passed through her, coupled with a sense of shame. Did he think her unscrupulous? “I assure you, my lord, there is
nothing
.”

He placed a finger under her chin and raised it, forcing her to meet his fiery gaze. She felt singed as warmth spiraled down to heat regions of her body she’d hardly been aware of. Her knees threatened to give way.

“You owe me a kiss, I think.”

Horatia was quite sure she couldn’t handle a kiss from this man with any degree of savoir-faire. He had the wrong idea about her entirely. “I owe you nothing of the sort.” She decided to bluff it out and pushed past him.

She found herself on her back on a pile of hay, with his lordship leaning over her. She struggled, but he held her down by her arms.

“
Roué!
Rake!” she spat at him. She moved her head from side to side to evade his mouth as he lowered his head toward hers. It was useless; he was too strong. He claimed her mouth, his lips cool and hard, and she stilled as desire flooded through her, the lick of excitement like a hot flame. He withdrew to look at her with surprise.

She gasped. “How dare…”

He ruthlessly kissed her again. Horatia had never been kissed like this. This was not an embarrassing collision of lips, quickly over. His tongue caressed hers and teased her and made her hungry for more. Such raw intimacy stunned her, and she couldn’t breathe. He stroked up her arms and clasped her hands, holding them above her head, a further shock of skin on skin, as she was crushed against his warm, hard body.

The fight went out of her. Had her hands been free, she would have pulled him closer still, driven by insatiable curiosity.

Horatia was dimly aware he had taught her a lesson. Women could not hope to get the better of a man physically, and impotent fury rose along with the passion.

Their heavy breathing filled the stable. The horses shuffled and whickered as he hovered over her, still holding her captive. She glared up at him, struggling against the desire he stirred in her. She fought to keep her anger close and nurture it to build a wall between them. “You have made your point,” she hurled at him. “You are stronger than I am.”

“You are such an innocent, Horatia. I hope you now realize you can’t go about dressed like this.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do you know your eyes aren’t brown? They are closer to pure amber with touches of green and gold. Like some rare stone.”

She turned her head away. “Let me go.”

When he obeyed her, she shoved him back as hard as she could. Struggling to her feet, she left him lying in the hay, looking infuriatingly smug. “You are no gentleman, sir. It seems they teach very poor manners in France!”

“Ah, but we French know how to enjoy what life has to offer.”
He climbed to his feet and dusted himself down. When he straightened, his eyes were full of laughter. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first opened my eyes and saw you. The shape of your body in those breeches cast me into a terrible state, I can tell you!”

Another wave of helpless rage swept over her. “How ungrateful you are. I saved your life!” She put a finger to her trembling lips, finding them swollen.

“And I am most eternally grateful for it. Now go off quickly and change before I decide to kiss you again. As fetching as you look right now…” He gave her a long look from head to toe, which made her suck in a breath of frustration. “I wish to see you dressed as a pretty woman should be. Your secret is safe with me.”

“How dare you patronize me,” she said when she could get her breath. What arrogance! Glaring at him, she searched for the right words to wound him. Fury tied her tongue into knots. He toyed with her because he was a man and could do whatever he pleased. Her restricted circumstances became so unbearable she thought she might explode.

She forced a smile on her face and swayed closer.

“
Mon dieu
!” He eyed her hips in the form-fitting breeches and shook his head with a grin.

She reeled her arm back and slapped him hard across the cheek, so hard her fingers tingled. She welcomed the smarting; it made her feel considerably better.

“
Coquine
!” Eyes open wide, he fell backwards with a hand to his cheek.

“We Englishwomen are not to be toyed with, my lord!” She turned to make a grand exit but stumbled over a rake cast down in the hay. Extricating herself without injury, she hurried for the door. “I shall expect you for tea in fifteen minutes.”

“Will you, indeed?” came the amused reply.

Sick with mortification, Horatia changed into her best morning gown of rose-pink-patterned cotton. She knew one must look one’s best to feel any degree of confidence. And confidence was required to put the baron in his place! She discarded the idea of a lace cap and parted her hair to sweep it back in a smooth bun, secured with pearl-handled combs. If Guy had sought to show how weak she was when a man wished to take advantage, he had succeeded. He made her feel passionately alive. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable feeling, but it made sense of the unaccountable restlessness she had been suffering. How would she be able to bear being stuck in Digswell for the rest of her days?

After a quick glance in the glass, she hurried downstairs, his deep kisses still on her mind. Remembering what had happened between them only succeeded in making her pause on the step and utter a strangled gasp. Struggling to regain her composure, she entered the drawing room, to find Guy and her father on their second slice of Cook’s plum bread. Guy threw down his napkin and stood as she entered the room.