A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (8 page)

The tingling caught fire. She pushed Old Nell to walk faster. Now the tingling pulsed in the deepest part of her womanhood. It ran down her legs and throbbed in her breasts. His hand on her leg: cords of blue veins, the fringe of hair on the knuckles … the image hijacked her mind. Nell’s long strides rocked Ellie gently back and forth in the saddle.

The tingle became a delicious itch that consumed her. “Oh,” Ellie gasped. “Oh, oh.” Her breath caught. She moved with the horse, pushing against the saddle, mouth open, head back, eyes closed. And then a bolt of pleasure rocketed to every part of her. Her mind buzzed. The commotion in her body blurred the scenery and left her shuddering.

When the feeling subsided, Ellie pressed the mare into a canter.
I must never ride this horse again,
she thought.
And from now on, I will do anything to avoid Hugh Davenport.

• • •

Walking back to the house from the barn, Hugh found his mind would focus on only one thing: Toby. He’d admired many a wench’s tiny waist or buxom breasts, or both, but not her skills, horse training, or otherwise. This was a chit who could do something useful. And she was pretty. Oh, and her thigh — hard with that womanly layer of softness encasing the muscle. Delightful leg. Superlative leg.

If he did approach her, what if one of the stable hands saw? They’d think he was seducing a man. Not the best impression to leave with a bunch of barnyard gossips. Worse, what if she didn’t accept him?
Gad, she’s pretty, and what a rider.

Thoughts scattered like frightened birds — without warning Hugh found himself plunging toward the dark depths of the fountain pool. Face inches from the water surrounding the statue of the nymph, he saved himself by plunging both arms to the elbow in wet. The spouting fish the nymph clutched doused his head. “Bloody hell,” he cursed, glaring at the structure. “Did they move this damn thing?” The nymph smiled her stony secret.

I must never walk this bloody path again,
thought Hugh.
And from now on, I’d better avoid Toby Coopersmith.

Lady Davenport bustled into the library. It had the best afternoon light, and a new edition of
The Baronetage
had just come in the post.

She sat on a divan by the window and flipped through the pages. A crunching noise stopped her perusal.

“What are you doing you dreadful dog?” she said, addressing the spaniel, who had his muzzle deep in the cushioned chair. Sport gazed at her with innocent eyes. “Cease or out.”

She resumed turning pages. The dog returned to munching. “Quiet!” she ordered. The spaniel looked uncomfortable. He stood, turned around, and settled back in the chair.

Lady Davenport’s eyes zeroed in on a juicy bit about Edmund Billingsworth Toping. “He’s come into his father’s title, at last,” she said to no one. Chuckling, she remembered how he’d gallantly tossed his cloak into a puddle to protect her slippers. It had been a cold night, he couldn’t put the cloak back on, and the coachman wouldn’t let him in the carriage with the ruined garment.

Chomping interrupted her reverie. Sport’s nose was immersed in the chair cushion again. “I said, stop that infernal chewing,” she scolded. “That’s it, you’re out.”

As she rose from the divan, the spaniel dug frantically in the upholstery. By the time she reached the dog, he’d secured his prize. Dangling from sharp canine teeth was the most magnificent string of pearls she’d ever seen.

“Good heavens, where did you get that?” She reached for the necklace, but Sport leaped off the chair, tripped on the pearls and struggled to his feet. “Oh my God, don’t break them,” she squealed.

Dragging the strand between his legs, Sport ducked under a library table.

“Come out of there at once!” Lady Davenport commanded. The spaniel backed further under the table, and closed his mouth over a glowing pearl.

“No, no, don’t chew,” she gasped. She could find nothing to flush out the dog — no yard stick or broom — and she certainly didn’t want the servants involved. Taking great care with her satins and laces, she hiked up her skirt and lowered herself to her knees. Her enormous breasts hovered just above the floor. As she lowered herself to crawl under the table, she held her bosoms aloft with one arm.

Sport’s eyes filled with excitement. He bowed, front legs out and rump in the air. “This is not playtime,” she warned the dog.

Relinquishing her burden, Lady Davenport made a grab for the necklace and pulled. The spaniel backed away. Eyes bright, he jerked his head back and forth, whipping the precious strand.

Lady Davenport immediately let go. “You abominable beast,” she hissed. “I’ll have you beaten and boiled.” The dog bounced with a yip and frisked away in triumph, catching the strand on the claw foot of a globe table. She hoisted herself to her feet, supporting her weight on a standing candelabra, then followed the delighted dog. Just as she was on the verge of grabbing him, the spaniel scooted behind a potted fern.

Heart hammering from exertion, Lady Davenport approached the plant. “Come out, little doggie,” she trilled. “I’ve got the nicest treat for you. How about a juicy beating straight down to the bone?” The spaniel sat on the pearls and yawned.

With a speed and agility not often seen in one her age, Lady Davenport dashed to the fern, crushing fronds beneath the weight of her chests as she made a lightning-fast grab for Sport. She missed.

The spaniel skittered on the parquet, dragging the pearls with him. She cut him off before he could escape from behind the fern.

The door burst open and Hugh strode into the library. “Is something the matter, Mother?” he said. Startled, Sport dropped the pearls. In one quick swipe, Lady Davenport snatched the necklace and dropped it under the fern’s flattened foliage.

“Mother, what are you doing to that plant?” said Hugh, lifting the excited spaniel into his arms.

“It’s an interesting phenomena,” Lady Davenport replied, trying to control her breathing. “Ferns have the most remarkable … fronds.”

“I suppose,” Hugh said.

“Long fronds with many leaves. Or would you say each frond is a leaf?”

“You take me by storm, Mother. Do you really want to know about fern leaves?”

“Well, they are fascinating,” she said.

“Not to you. Not unless that fern is illicitly dipping its pistil in an inferior plant’s stamen.”

“Don’t be disgusting, Hugh,” she replied. Lady Davenport drew herself to her full imposing height and stalked to the door. “I want that dog
out
.”

Hugh put Sport down and the dog slunk from the room.

With false composure, she addressed her son. “Before I vacate the library, dear, I wanted you to know I’ve planned a little house party for the month of June. Our guests will arrive the day after tomorrow. That lovely Albright girl you were speaking to at the Mortimer assembly is coming with her sisters, isn’t that grand?”

“Who?”

“You know, the pretty one with the white blond hair and big blue eyes.”

“There were several young ladies of that description at the Mortimers’.”

“Yes, well, she’s coming here with her sisters.”

“Thank you, Mother, but I prefer to choose my own future.”

“Will it hurt you to try, for once, to be less than the wrath of Satan to me? I’ve invited that cabal of warlocks you met at Eaton, too. So you see, Hugh, I’m not unreasonable.”

“Ha.” He strode away, flipped his coat tails, and sat at his desk.

Lady Davenport hesitated in the doorway, then cleared her throat and marched to the front of the desk.

“You are a Peer of the Realm now. It’s time you realized that titles demand respectability. You are no longer free to dally with servant girls.”

Clenching his teeth, Hugh took out a piece of stationery, wetted the tip of his quill, and dated the top of a letter.

Not about to be dismissed, she took a paperweight and slammed it on the desktop. “I want you to know that the Mortimers’ maid, Hortense, has been dismissed.”

“What?”

“Your actions have consequences, Hugh.”

“You have ruined that woman’s life! Your actions caused the consequences.”

“If ever a woman deserved dismissal … It is time you were married. Every eye in society is waiting to see you settled.”

Hugh bolted from his chair. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to marry to satisfy that lot,” he roared. Coming around the desk, he backed his mother toward the door. “You and the rest of your bloodsucking crowd can roast in hell! I will not marry some palsied cull to make you happy.”

“It is for your own good,” Lady Davenport blurted as she retreated from the room. The door slammed behind her.

In the hallway she fanned herself, trying to calm her nerves. After a few deep breaths she cracked the library door. “You will be civil to the Albright girls, won’t you?” she said.

Hugh glowered. “Good heavens, I’m not an animal.”

“That could be debated. But you won’t spend all your time with the servants, will you?”

“Mother, I’ll do my best, but that’s as much as I’ll guarantee.”

“Excellent. Thank you, dear.” She closed the door.

• • •

Ellie had hoped to slip quietly into the house and tell Claire to tell their mother that Ellie would be at Aunt May’s until the running of the Haldon Gold Cup. However, with her first footfall on the front steps to the Tudor mansion, an excited baying of hounds erupted. The dogs hurled themselves at her as she opened the door. Their toenails beat a wild dance on the marble, and she received an instant coating of saliva, paw dirt, and hair.

“You’re home!” Peggity said from the top of the staircase. “Ellie, we have the most wonderful news.”

“Let me tell her. Let me tell her,” squealed Snap. Peggity swept down the stairs, but Snap beat her by sliding down the banister.

“The Davenports want us to play with them!” Snap said.

“What’s this?” asked Ellie, picking up her little sister and kissing her rosy cheek.

“The Davenports have invited us to a house party,” explained Peggity. “Snap may visit.”

“Are you in earnest?” Ellie said.

“Dear, you’re home,” cried Lady Albright, sailing into the front hall. She wrapped her daughter in a warm hug.

Lord Albright apparently heard the ruckus, and barged through his study door, his favorite black cat clinging to his shoulders. “Ah, Ellie, I’m glad you’re home. Come, dear, I must show you a most marvelous book I just received.”

“Papa, I have to tell you about Mr. Lank. He’s in league with … ”

A cloud passed over her father’s face. “There’s no need to discuss it further … ”

“No darling, there isn’t,” said Lady Albright, slipping between Ellie and her father. “But wherever is Claire?”

“I’m here,” said Claire, wading through the dogs to kiss Ellie.

“Isn’t it exciting?” Snap said, yanking on Ellie’s trouser leg. “You get a new dress, and Mama says I can have a cage for my rat.”

“A rat? When did you get a rat? One night away and I feel like I’ve been gone a week.”

“Yesterday the Literary Club ladies were over,” Lady Albright explained with a pained sigh. “In the middle of the meeting, Snap asked for a bag to catch a rat. Well, we all chuckled like mad — a wee girl wanting to catch a rat. I made the mistake of telling her to ask Cook. A few minutes later she returned with a rat in a bag.”

“I found it in a pipe,” Snap said.

“Yes,” added Claire. “She’s named it … ”

“Napoleon!” shouted Snap.

“My, you’ve been busy,” replied Ellie.

Peggity coughed. “Rats aside, we’re awfully glad you came home. The house party begins the day after tomorrow. We have so much to do before then.”

Aghast, Ellie blurted, “So soon?”

“According to Snap, our butler heard from Lady Davenport’s footman that you made a good impression on her son, Lord Hugh,” continued Peggity. “He’s notoriously shy around women.”

“Ha!” said Ellie. “Not from what I saw.”

“Be that as it may,” Peggity continued, “Lady Davenport wants us at Cowick Hill right away to capitalize on the attraction.”

“How grotesque,” Ellie said.

“Why, darling?” reasoned her mother. “Lord Davenport is handsome, rich, and a horseman. What more could you want?”

“Someone who’s not a charlatan and a rogue, for one,” said Ellie.

“But you will come?” Claire interjected, looking worried.

“Of course, the house party will put me near Manifesto.”

“That horse.” Peggity shook her head. “You’d marry the beast if it were legal.”

“I would indeed.”

“All that can wait.” Claire grabbed Ellie’s arm, pulling her upstairs. “You absolutely must tell me about your adventures with
Aunt May
.”

• • •

In the privacy of her bedroom, Ellie leaped on the quilt and lay flat in exhaustion. “Your head would spin if you knew what I’ve been through.”

“Tell me everything,” Claire said, sitting on the bed and heaving an overweight cat onto her lap.

Ellie lay motionless as pudding. Her lips were the only thing that moved as she told Claire about seeing Lank with Baron Wadsworth. “They’re in league together.”

Claire gave her a skeptical look. “How do you know Mr. Lank wasn’t just trying to get the best possible price for Manifesto by bringing the baron to the sale?”

“I just know it,” Ellie said, and banged her fist on the mattress.

“Well, you absolutely cannot tell Papa about Mr. Lank now,” Claire said, alarm in her voice. “Papa believes you were at Aunt May’s. He’d be beyond angry if he knew you went to a horse fair unescorted, and Mama would be so upset after telling you to watch our reputation.”

Ellie went silent. She had counted on her parent’s support. Now she was back to operating alone. “I know a way of getting Manifesto back without selling the necklace.”

“Oh, thank Heavens,” said Claire, emitting a huge sigh of relief.

Ellie nestled her head deeper into the pillow. “I’m going to bet the necklace on Manifesto to win the Haldon Gold Cup. I’ll get the pearls back after the race and the winnings should be enough to give the farm a new start.”

Claire’s hands flew to her face. “But what if Manifesto doesn’t win? We wouldn’t even have the horse to assure our future. Mama would die without the Fitzcarry pearls.”