Claiming the Cowboys (6 page)

“I
am
grateful,” he insisted. “Your father gave me a life I could never have had otherwise. But I am
not
his son. I may have a title but there is no money or property to go with it. I have to make my own way in the world.”

“You know Papa would never leave you unprovided for.”

Harry shifted from foot to foot and refused to meet her eyes. “He might change his mind if I failed to live up to his expectations.”

“You think Papa would cut you out of his will because he found out you were lending me salacious reading material?” A spurt of laughter escaped her. “Papa is not as hidebound as that, I can promise you.” Again she laughed and waggled the book at him. “But to appease you, I’ll take the book some place no one will find me.”

The worried look didn’t leave his eyes and he didn’t laugh with her as she’d expected. She reached up to kiss his cheek once more. “Silly. Nothing will go wrong, I promise you.”

Tucking the book under her arm, she strolled outside, leaving Harry standing still and silent in the hallway.

The sun shone warmly in a rare, summer-blue sky. She walked towards a shaded bench on the edge of the lawn and sat down. Three young men swept scythes from side to side, mowing the expanse of grass. They were shirtless, their backs glistening with sweat, muscles flexing as they bent and stretched. Their hypnotic rhythm kept her motionless and enthralled until one of them looked up and saw her then nudged the others. All three stopped and straightened.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she stood and moved away, following a path that led between the trees to a little wilderness. Overhead, interlocking branches provided cool shade and the soft cooing of doves mixed in lazy harmony with the drone of bees. This was just what she wanted. Somewhere remote, rustic, but still safe within the confines of her father’s estate.

Another path branched off the main one, narrower, scattered with twigs and mushy, decomposing leaves left from last autumn. Clearly few people ever came this way. The deserted pathway lured her. After a few yards it narrowed even more and turned sharply. She glanced behind her. The main house, the lawns and the gardeners were completely hidden from sight. Mary shrugged and strolled on.

Ten minutes later she broke out of the trees. A small lake twinkled in the sunlight. A pair of white swans floated peacefully on the surface. On the far edge of the lake stood a small building, its white painted walls almost smothered by thick clusters of pink climbing roses. Arched windows were set into the walls, their shape echoed in the double doors at the entrance. The enchanting scene drew her forward.

As she placed her foot on the step that led to the front doors, she hesitated. She had an odd sense that she ought to knock. She dismissed the idea at once. The summerhouse was on her father’s estate. And she had every right to enter. She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it.

The door opened silently and she stepped inside. A mosaic tiled floor depicting a hunting scene led to an oversized daybed pushed up against a wall. If the summerhouse was infested with mice or rats, there was no sign of them. The entire place was remarkably tidy and well maintained for a deserted building.

The musky scent of roses and the warm, dappled sun falling through the latticework windows made it a perfect place for her to read Harry’s book.

She sat on the daybed, stretching out on its wide mattress, snuggling her back up against the padded rest at the end. Feeling deliciously wicked, she kicked off her shoes, rolled down her stockings then began to read.

Harry might have found the subject matter shocking but he must have had a far better idea of where to look for the scandalous parts than she did. The introduction to the work was dull and old fashioned. While she normally loved the chance to improve her knowledge, today, with the sun shining and in this peaceful spot, she couldn’t summon up her usual enthusiasm.

The sun warmed her face and her eyelids grew heavy.

The sound of the door being shut snapped her awake. A man stood in the middle of the room. Shadows fell across his face and she couldn’t make out his features. His arms were folded across his powerful chest.

Mary swung her legs down, smoothing her skirts and tucking her bare feet out of sight. Her heart fluttered with the first stirrings of fear.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “You have no right to be here.”

“I have as much right as you, my lady.” There was no subservience in his tone, yet he knew her rank.

“If you know my title, you know this is my father’s estate.” She lifted her chin, well used to giving orders. “I insist that you leave at once.”

“I’m not interested in your demands.”

The man stepped forward and she saw his face for the first time. He wasn’t as handsome as Harry—few men were, but he had a hard chiselled appearance, his cheekbones high and his mouth a firm slash. A muscle fluttered alongside his jaw.

He wore no coat or hat, just a simple white broadcloth shirt and a pair of brown breeches, his feet in a pair of serviceable boots. Not a gentleman of leisure then. Unless he was a trespasser, and he seemed far too self-assured for that, he must work on the estate. He ought to be tugging at his forelock and leaving her alone, but he didn’t seem to be aware of that.

“Take your silly little novel and go somewhere else if my presence here offends you.” He bent over to pick up the book that had fallen to her feet. He straightened and his dark eyes flashed fire. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s my cousin Harry’s,” she replied.

“I know it’s Harry’s,” he said. “I want to know how you got it.”

“Harry lent it to me.” The implications of what he said struck her. “How do you know it belongs to Harry—and how dare you call him Harry? He is Viscount Selton.”

“I call him Harry because he’s my friend, and I know it’s his book because he lent it to me, too.”

“He lent it to you?” Mary gasped. “You’ve read this book?”

“I read all of Harry’s books,” he replied. “Don’t look so surprised. I
can
read.”

“That’s not… How do you know…? Who are you?”

“I’m Drake, the head gardener,” he said briefly and dismissively, his attention on the book. “Harry shouldn’t have lent this to you,” he said, thumbing through the pages. “It’s not…”

“Suitable for a lady,” she finished for him. “Now who’s making assumptions? I can read anything I want and
not
be shocked by it.”

He looked down at her, an arrested expression in his dark eyes. “Oh really,” he said and flipped to the middle. He read, his voice deep and fluent, never stumbling over the words even when the images they described made her face flame. She wanted to sink into the cushions of the daybed and never reappear but she’d boasted that she would not be shocked. She squirmed on the seat, her body stirred by new and unsettling feelings.

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About the Author

Alysha Ellis lives in Australia and when she isn’t busy drinking champagne, eating chocolate and letting her inner tart run free, she writes erotic comedy. Her favourite quote comes from Mae West… A hard man is good to find. Who could argue with that? Alysha tries very hard to be bad, because bad girls have all the fun.

Email:
[email protected]

Alysha loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
.

Also by Alysha Ellis

Send Me An Angel

The Devil Made Me Do It

Lone Wolf

Downunder Heat

Sharing the Billionaire: Submitting to Him

At Your Service: The Gardener’s Sins

Lasso Lovin’: Claiming the Cowboys

Bodices and Boudoirs: A Boudoir for Three

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