Myriah Fire (30 page)

It was late afternoon, and Lady Taffy was sparring for wind. Thurston Tarrant, the rakehell Hotspur, was the man in her visions—no doubt about it whatsoever.

This is, of course, impossible
, she told herself. Her dream vision had to be off somehow—could be off? Now and then, she managed to change a vision, not often, but it did change. Oh, this was all wrong.

She had come home in a great irritation of nerves, changed into her green riding habit, plopped a matching top hat on her head, grimaced at her reflection, and thrown it off. How could she have been dreaming about such a cad of a man? He was a rogue of rogues. He was a heartbreaker … why had she seen him naked and … why had she been naked? What a stupid question. She set this aside. It had to have been some strange quirk of the mind. She wasn’t getting the entire story from the small snippet of a premonition—that was it; it had to be.

What she needed was a good run to dissipate her confusion and put her back in order. But the thing was, she was in a state of agitation because never before had she met such a man as Thurston Tarrant.

Her brother had said he was the very devil with the ladies.
Oh yes,
the rakehell Hotspur could certainly have no place in her life. What she wanted when she fell in loved was not a rakehell, but a man who would love only her—faithfully. This one, this Hotspur, would be faithful to no one woman.

Her brother had said there wasn’t a woman who didn’t want him,
eh?
Well, she could see Tarrant thoroughly believed in his own myth.
Hotspur, indeed!
And then her mind’s eye recalled his perfect naked body reaching for her in her dream. She recalled how she felt in her vision, hot and ready and willing. It brought on a wave of heat in the present, and her blood surged through her body. This had to stop. The vision was a mistake … an error … a false dream that meant nothing.

He was an arrogant, rude, and puffed up with his own consequence sort, and he had been impudent enough to think
she
was interested in him. Well, at least she had managed quite neatly to put any such notions he might have had on that score deeply into the earth.

She had exchanged dagger for dagger, hit for hit, during lunch and then again just as she quit his company. But the truth was it had not been pleasant, and she had not enjoyed a moment of the cold war he had engaged her in during their afternoon.

Lady Taffeta had been cosseted and adored all her life. What little she could remember of her mother had been dear and loving. Her father had openly adored her. Seth and Nigel were wont to tease her, but never had they, or any of their friends, treated her with such disdain. More than that, their friends had recently been quite gallant and flirtatious, a circumstance she had been learning to appreciate.

This Hotspur had the audacity to think she had set her cap for him, so she had spent the entire luncheon trying to convince him of the reverse—
vision be damned!
The effort had left her breathless with chagrin. These agitating thoughts had taken her stomping toward the stables, where she had tacked up her chestnut gelding without benefit of her groom’s help.

She led her favorite riding horse outside and mounted him with ease. Her loose hair blew freely about her face as the wind picked up. She walked her gelding onto the bridle path and then put him into an easy trot, telling him all the while she was very happy he was in a chipper mood, for she was not.

His ears pricked to her voice as he listened, and she reached over and patted his neck affectionately. “There, never mind me.”

She wanted to keep to the fields and wooded trails, and in order to accomplish this, she was forced to skirt the lands dividing Watson Halls from Grantham. The gate was closed. With a silent oath, she set her pace and went into position with her heels well down and her body neatly poised. Her gelding’s ears flickered alertly as he looked ahead at the jump.

“I know, Red Moose. You don’t like the high jumps … truth, I don’t much either, but the gate is closed, and I don’t feel much like getting down and up. Let’s just take it. Right then … here we go.”

She knew her horse loved her, and he told her so then with a soft sound, something between a snort and a whinny. She laughed and encouraged him, saying, “I love you, Moose … come on … pick up the pace … and we’ll do fine. Just think of it as only a few feet higher than a log. Honestly, you could step over it … nothing to worry about, Moosey.”

She legged him on, and he obediently went for the jump, changed his mind at the very last moment, and made as though to duck out and refuse. Taffy screamed irritably, “No, sir, no … You know better.”

She went into position and drove him, but his sharp movements shifted her position in the saddle and sent her off balance. Her gelding did finally accede to her demand and took the gate flying, landing heavily on the other side, which sent her sideways in her saddle when he planted his fores on the ground.

She nearly lost her seat completely, and with no dignity whatsoever, she scrambled, grabbed his neck and mane, and managed to right herself. As she settled back into her saddle, she told him, “Odious brute, you almost lost me there.” Taffy, however, was so relieved she was still in the saddle she released a nervous laugh and added ruefully, “You certainly are well named, Moose.”

“Damn
if you didn’t make him do it. Didn’t think he would for a moment there …” She heard the chuckle of a male rider making his way alongside her. “I thought for a moment I might be picking you up off the ground. Well done, Lady Taffeta,” said the rakehell Hotspur.

She had been nearly surprised enough to lose her seat again, and blew out a whiff of air as she spun around and discovered, of all people, the Hotspur seated on his horse, grinning broadly.

She knew what she must look like—a complete mess. As she started to speak, she discovered she was hindered by a long tress between her teeth. She removed her hair from her mouth, but the wind would not cooperate and blew it right back. She wished she had at least pinned it back. However, she managed to draw herself up and regain her composure. She eyed him coldly and thought,
Of all people to witness a clumsy jump—it had to be him. Grrr.
She could have cried right then, but instead she said with an edge of haughtiness, “My lord, I thank you, but I must admit it to have been my fault. I should have stopped Moose and brought him back in for a better line to the gate.”

“Agreed, but nevertheless, you made him take it, which he did like a rocket,
and you
managed to stay put when he landed badly.”

His grin made her want to throw mud at his face.

She grimaced. “He doesn’t like jumping; I don’t know why I made him …” She patted the horse’s neck and managed an amiable laugh. “Poor Moose, the big jumps frighten him.” She sighed. It was over and done. He had seen her at her worst. So be it. Brush herself off and move on. “What brings you out? I had thought you would be packed and off for London by now.”

Tarrant’s black stallion pranced beneath him, and he took a moment to bring his horse under him. She could not help but admire his horsemanship. He was strong of leg and quiet of hand.

The two horses touched noses, and the stallion seemed pleased to find Moose submissive so they fell easily into step beside each other, leaving Tarrant free once more to converse.

He eyed her and said, “As to that, it was my intention, but my aunt wishes me to stay for dinner, and I have dutifully accepted. She is the favorite of my aunts, and I don’t see enough of her.” The stallion snorted for an unknown reason and pranced a bit until he quieted him again.

Taffy laughed appreciatively as she indicated with a flick of her chin. “He suits you—restless.”

His eyes stared into hers, and once again he was the man in her vision. Feral with desire … coming for her, and she was oh, so willing. She had to stop this. She couldn’t think of him like this. Maids were not supposed to …

Tarrant jarred these thoughts when he laughed and said, “Let’s call a truce, you and I, shall we?”

“A truce, my lord? Were we at war?”

He smiled, and she was all too aware of his magnetism. This one was dangerous. He had a killer smile and a singular charm to go with it, and when he used it, a woman could forget he was a scoundrel.

He inclined his head. “I don’t know why it was, but I think lunch was a sparring contest.”

She eyed him warily. The devil was actually flirting with her.
Does he think I would be an easy conquest? Ha!
“A truce, then. I shall not throw my handkerchief … or cap, your way,
and you won’t
try to seduce me.” She watched the devil glitter in his eyes, and it was most definitely intriguing. She had to keep him at arm’s length for certain.

He laughed again and answered easily, his eyes full with his amusement, “I shall have to consider this …” Without warning, he leaned over and lightly, easily managed to kiss her lips, parting them, and expertly found refuge there for his tongue.

She was startled by the unexpectedness of it. She was shocked by her reaction both in her body and mind. She felt the blood race through her veins, calling all her nerve endings into action. She felt her heart begin to purr with anticipation. She felt a spot between her thighs tickle her with heat and an itch to be touched …

His kiss was everything she had expected the rakehell Hotspur’s kiss to be, and, more, it was what she wanted it to be.

She went to war with herself and somehow found the ability to pull away abruptly. She put up her chin. “Am I to assume, then, we have not negotiated a truce?”

His laughter resonated on the breeze, and she found herself smiling in spite of the frown she tried to maintain. He said, “Must it be one or the other?”

“One or the other …” she answered firmly.

“Then I think not,” he said brightly. “War it is, my lady, and to the victor go the spoils.”

She made a show of sighing heavily. “Well, you still needn’t worry I shall aim my cap your way. You are not at all the sort of man
I
am after.”

His pique set his jaw, and she had an urge to giggle but managed to control herself.

“Oh, really? What sort of man
are you
after?”

She beamed mischievously. “What every girl wants, of course. A knight of the Realm, a hero, a man of principles and romance—a man who will always take her side …”

“He doesn’t exist,” retorted Tarrant harshly.

She looked at him sideways. “Then I am destined to be a spinster.” With this, she clicked her horse and took off into a heady canter.

He caught up to her in a moment, for she could see his black did not mean to be left behind, and they collected their horses and moved along head in head. They slowed as the field ebbed and the wooded path opened before them.

Taffy brought her horse to a stop and allowed him to graze on some nearby tall grass. “Oh, that was lovely,” she said breathlessly. “What a fine animal you have, my lord. But never say you ride him tamely in Hyde Park.”

“I’ve schooled Demon myself. He will go as sedately or as wildly as I ask of him.”

Again, she saw the arrogance, the self-confidence, the high opinion he seemed to have of himself. She bristled. “Of course, how foolish of me to doubt you,” she said in mock meekness.

He looked at her sharply. When he did not remark on it, she was sure he thought she was poking fun at him.

“Tell me why it is that both your uncle, young though he is, and your brother allow you to go off alone like this … without even a groom in attendance?”

She took umbrage. “I suppose that is my business and theirs.”

He laughed. “It certainly would have been theirs had you fallen back there and been injured, fledgling.”

“Well, they are off to a cockfight, and I am quite used to riding about unattended.”

He smiled, and there was a tease in his voice as he admonished lightly, “In addition to the fact you could take a tumble, riding freely as you do, it is not at all the thing for a lady to ride astride and without the protection of at least her groom.”

She put up her chin. “I am well enough known in our village and surrounding area. Who would accost me?” She shrugged this off. “And as to riding astride, I prefer it. Riding in a lady’s saddle is not always an easy or comfortable task. Why we should have to do so is outrageous. Taking a tumble? If I were missing, someone would come looking …”

He raised a brow quizzically. “As to who would accost you—any man with eyes in his head, sunbeam.”

“But any man with a brain in his head wouldn’t dare. There are consequences they would have to incur, and I am no easy prey.”