Awakening His Duchess (16 page)

“What the devil are you doing?” he demanded.

Her chin inched up a notch. “Joining you. You ordered a
horse to be saddled for me, no?”

“You are so certain I’m going to endanger my son you got on
the back of a high-spirited hunter when you don’t know how to ride?”

Her lips trembled. She jerked her face into the horse’s
neck, straining to reach the rein that was still well out of her range. “I
didn’t think it could be that hard if Etienne—”

“How am I supposed to see to his safety when I have to watch
out for you too?” He spit the words as he maneuvered his horse close enough to
reach the dangling rein. A quick glance toward Etienne relieved him that the
boy was all right.

Holding out her hand for the dropped rein, she straightened,
but her cheeks were ashen.

Her horse shied away and his hindquarters slid down the soft
dirt of the berm. Squealing, Yvette grabbed the mane, but she was losing her
seat again. His chest squeezed as his heart tried to pound out of it. Idiot
woman was about to fall off and get trampled.

He kneed his mount against hers and grabbed her around the
waist, pulling her onto his thigh. She clutched his arm as he hauled her up
into his lap. Her trembling was violent enough to shake him.

“Damn it, Yvette. An inexperienced rider on a horse like
this
is
dangerous.” He hauled her upwards as the horses shifted,
protesting the odd goings on. “Stop squirming or I’ll drop you.”

“Is that a threat?” she managed to say in a high voice,
although he guessed she was trying to sound defiant.

“Hell if I know.”

When he had a tight enough grip on her he was certain not to
lose her, he urged his horse away from her half-panicked and high-strung
hunter. Taking a deep breath, he fought for calm. “I won’t harm my son. The
horse he is on is the most gentle of creatures. The biggest danger is that
she’ll drop dead from old age while he’s riding her.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He wasn’t ready to be appeased. “Did you think you could
just get on a horse and know what to do?”

“If a child...” Her voice trailed off, but her nails were
digging into his arms.

In spite of his urge to shake her, Beau also wanted to
stroke her hair and reassure her she was safe. Then he needed to take a piece
of hide out of the groomsman who’d saddled the black horse for an inexperienced
rider. “I spent a quarter hour instructing him and walking the horse around the
courtyard before letting him
walk
down the drive on a gentle old horse.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Etienne still
stopped and waiting a good quarter mile up the drive.

Yvette turned up her face, and her dark eyes filmed with
moisture. “I thought I could do it.
Mon Dieu
, I did not know riding
would be so hard.”

Dear God
was
right. Her stock had shifted exposing the creamy skin above her corset. Most of
her corset too, not that the frilly ribbon and lace were where his gaze was
glued. More like the valley between her breasts.

His body heated like the tropical sun had risen inside him.
He wanted to stroke much more than her hair.

She shifted on his lap and blood rushed south. This couldn’t
be happening. In this position she would know his response.

He felt awkward like a green lad. She was his wife and
they’d been intimate. He shouldn’t feel so unsettled. And he needed to get her
off his lap before he did something stupid like kiss her.

“I’ll teach you to ride, damn it,” he heard himself say.
Where the hell had that come from?

Chapter Nine

Yvette’s breath whooshed out of her body. Beau intended to
teach her to ride. Her pounding heart, instead of slowing, beat faster.

“Just not at the same time I’m teaching Etienne,” he
muttered.

Growing aware of how close they were on his horse, she tried
to relax her death grip on his lapels. His arm came around her and he
transferred the reins. The front bow of the saddle jammed her in the backside,
but the discomfort was nothing compared to the delicious feel of his hard
thighs under hers.

The horse shifted and she grabbed his arm.

He nestled her more securely against him. Every part of him
that touched her heated like a warming stone had been pressed to her.

She ignored her unwelcome response. The flash of heat was
likely due to her fear and mortification at nearly falling from the horse she’d
tried to ride. Not the way Beau’s hold felt safe and protective.

“I ride with you then.” What better way of keeping an eye on
them both.

“No. You’re not staying on my horse...with me.” He shook his
head tightly. “I’ll teach you to ride on your own later.”

She wouldn’t be cut out of Etienne’s life. She was his mother,
and no matter what Beau thought, she knew what was best for him.

“You do not need to teach me.” She smoothed the lapels she
had grabbed. Her heart refused to slow. Why was it every time she was close to
him, she couldn’t stop petting him?

“Yes. I. Do. A wife of a peer has to know how to ride,” he
gritted out as he shoved her hand away.

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me in front of Etienne.” A steely mask
slipped over his features. He shifted his reins to the other hand and jammed
her scarf into the sides of her jacket.

The rough tips of his fingers made tingles shoot out all
over her body. Her response was unmistakable this time. Desire coursed through
her veins with a mad thrumming. No, this could not be.

She
did not want him. He did not want her. If he did, he would not shove her hands
away. Or was it just because their son was only a few yards away, watching and
waiting?

It was if she couldn’t stay in her murky dark place around
him. Somehow Beau had the power to cast a bright light into her shadows. She
sighed and stopped trying to fight the ray of hope. Perhaps Beau had changed
his mind and wanted the marriage they should have had. She leaned her hip into
the growing hardness there.

Her body responded mindlessly with a welcoming softness. She
barely held back a moan. Her thoughts swirled back in time to the madness of
their short courtship and how she’d felt as if she’d die if he didn’t kiss her,
and he’d seemed to feel the same. Did he remember the future he’d planned for
them?

Could they try to have a real marriage? She searched his
face. Perhaps her care of the night before had softened Beau’s distrust.
Perhaps they could find a way to work together as parents, if not in any other
way.

But the flat determined set of his mouth crowded her mind
and confused her thoughts. He was frustratingly cold, his touch all business.

His voice dropped low. “We will present a unified front to
all others, but don’t ever think it will be the same behind closed doors.”

His words were like ice water. She struggled to find sanity
and dismiss the crazy leap her heart had taken. She knew better than to believe
she could live normally, feel normally. All she ever found was deep slicing
pain when she allowed anyone into her world.

She
didn’t want the intimacies of marriage or more children. She only wanted to
stay a part of Etienne’s life. “It is good to not argue in front of Etienne,
but you must not exclude me. I am his mother.”

“For Christ sake.” He wheeled his horse around. “You have
had him all his life and you cannot allow me a morning ride with him? Don’t be
so selfish.” His voice dropped to a mere whisper. His eyes focused on their
child and refused to meet hers.

Her insides fell in a fast whoosh. Her hopes that things
might have changed evaporated. Even if his body responded to her, he didn’t
want her. More the fool she, for thinking it meant anything.

She looked to her boy sitting mindfully on his horse. The
meaning was clear. Beau had only acknowledged her as his wife because of
Etienne. He didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, and he didn’t want her.

For a second she’d harbored hopes of the marriage she’d
imagined when she was young and foolish. Her ears heated, her face burned, and
her eyes stung.

If he thought she had chased after them because she wanted
to be his wife, he was sadly mistaken.

She had followed on horseback because she was concerned
about Etienne. Or concerned that the herbs could have affected Beau’s judgment
when she was the foolish one. And his rebuke stung all the more for being spot
on. “I only wish to be sure you are not harming Etienne. The herbs I give you
can make strange behavior.”

“Yes. I know,” he said flatly. “I’ve taken them before.”

So Mazi was right. Her throat went dry. “I give them only to
ease your breathing. I know nothing of other uses.”

Beau’s lips turned down.

He didn’t believe her. A deep hole opened in her belly. She
had no idea how to convince him she only meant to help.

“I’m setting you down. Take your mount by the bridle and
lead it back to the stables. On foot.”

She shuddered at the idea of leading the horse. Although the
black horse stood munching on grass beside the road as if it hadn’t a
threatening bone in its body.

Beau bent and lowered her to the ground which seemed a long
way below her. His grip around her upper arm was almost bruising, and he
lowered her swiftly. He must want rid of her as quickly as possible. Blackness
ate at her insides. She should have known better than to hope.

“Tell a groom you need a more docile horse, preferably a
mare. Have him transfer the saddle and be ready when Etienne must go in for his
school lessons.”

His eyes fixed on the horizon as if he couldn’t stand the
sight of her.

“The other mares are in the pasture with their foals,” she
told him. The groomsman had expressed his concern, but she’d told him to saddle
whatever horse was available. She couldn’t look up at Beau when he refused to
look at her. “I do not wish to ride anymore.”

“You’ll ride. If for no other reason than it is the best
thing to do after a fall,” Beau said grimly. “Or a near fall.”

And because she must appear to be the perfect English lady
went unsaid. He must not have noticed the narrowing of her eyes.

“Fix your hair before you take the horse back,” he said
gruffly. “And wait for me at the stables.”

She reached up to discover the hasty pinning her maid had
done had not survived the episode on the horse. A big hank of her hair hung
down her back. Her scarf was crooked, although Beau had tucked the sides in
hastily as if ashamed his wife was so disheveled. She couldn’t ride, she couldn’t
speak English without an accent. For the first time it occurred to her, he not
only thought she had betrayed him, she embarrassed him.

A daughter of a plantation owner might have been well enough
for a rebellious younger son, but now he was the heir to a dukedom, he must
feel differently. He wouldn’t even look at her. Damn him.

If he had come home in a few months, she would likely have
Henri’s money in hand and the ability to walk away from him and his
contemptuous attitude.

The thought shamed her. Beau had suffered enough and should
have been home years ago.

And she couldn’t walk away from Etienne. He was her entire
reason for living. Beau’s return home didn’t change that. If not for her
son—she shook her head—she might have knelt down and waited for the slaves to
take a machete to her. He had been the only reason she could go on after the
massacre of everyone else she held dear.

Beau clucked to his horse and when they were a few steps
away urged his horse to an easy lope.

The black horse tossed up his head and trotted after Beau.
Good. She didn’t want to lead the damn beast back to the stables anyway. She
gathered up the ridiculous skirt and headed back toward the house. She couldn’t
exactly be mindful of any danger to Etienne if she couldn’t keep her seat, and
for all her concern Beau seemed to have suffered no ill effects from either her
herbs or his breathing problems.

She reached up and loosed the rest of her hair, letting it
fall down her back. She’d had enough of being groomed to be the perfect English
lady. Enough of him and his blasted father. Neither of them could change that
she was Etienne’s mother, but she wouldn’t dance to their tune.

If Beau wanted to find amicable ground to walk on, fine. But
she’d be damned before she pretended everything was all right when it wasn’t.
She was moving back into her old room no matter what the duke and Beau wanted.
She wasn’t going to have relations with a man who despised her.

 
*~*~*

Whinnying a greeting, the riderless black hunter cantered up
to join Beau and Etienne’s mounts. Alarm jolted through Beau. He swiveled in
his seat, seeking Yvette. She stalked toward the house, her hair hanging down
her back.

He released his caught breath and stared after her.

Her hair rippled, catching the early light of the sun. Those
glossy dark curls had slipped across his skin when he’d made love to her on the
night they’d spent together. Soft as silk, smooth as sin. His mouth went dry.

Her hips swung with each step, unlike an English girl’s, but
reminding him of palm trees, tropical breezes and her scent.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the memories flashing in his mind
so real he could taste her. And his body responded in a way he hadn’t been
fully capable of last night. He shifted in the saddle, willing his arousal
away.

She was his wife. And she’d caught hold of him every time he
was near, rubbed his chest, smoothed his jacket. Her scarf had come loose
exposing a lot of her creamy skin. She had pushed her hip against his cock. If
that had been deliberate, and he suspected it was, there was no mistaking her
intent.

Perhaps he should take what was being offered. It wasn’t as
if he didn’t have marriage rights. He could avoid the sort of tenderness that
elevated sex to an expression of love. After all, he didn’t have to kiss her. It
wasn’t as if he loved her, nor was she a virgin requiring a great deal of
wooing. No, she’d had a husband for the years he’d been slaving away.