Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (17 page)

Her eyes flew open to see the tall shape of a man
standing a few feet away. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, her initial
reaction to be annoyed that Lord Hartforde had interrupted her
symphony. He was standing with his weight on one leg, hands crossed
over his chest, with something—she couldn’t ascertain what—clasped
in one hand and a sardonic expression on his perfect features. She
glared at him, but as she took in how the lean muscles of his legs
were accentuated by his close- fitting riding breeches, it was hard
to stop the rush of warmth that so often afflicted her when she
looked at him.

“
I was just trying to decide whose
boots I had found.” He held up the offending footwear. “I should
have guessed it was you. Don’t you ever wear shoes?”

His disparaging tone made her want to cringe, but
she returned his cool stare. “What you think no longer concerns me,
sir, and if I choose not to wear my shoes, ‘tis no business of
yours.” She sat up and crossed her arms over her knees. “Here.” She
was thinking of New York and had half forgot Alexander was there.
“I am free to do whatever I like. I don’t have to work for anyone
except myself! And ‘tis so beautiful”—she waved an arm—“I could not
help myself.” Belatedly, she realized she must sound like a
complete ninny. She looked away and told herself this arrogant,
unpleasant, and unrelentingly handsome aristocrat would never think
of her as anything but an annoying and brainless female.

“
I am gratified you find my estate
beautiful, Miss St. James. However, you might have hurt yourself,
and I should hardly care to be responsible for any misfortune of
yours.” He walked down to where she was sitting and threw the boots
at her feet. “Put them on,” he demanded.

“
But I don’t want to,” she said,
and just to be perverse, she lifted a foot and wiggled her toes at
him. “Though I must say your concern touches me deeply.” She lay
back down. “It’s such a lovely day, do you not agree?” His eyes
were very near the color of the grass.

“
Put them on.” He sounded
distinctly annoyed.

“
Look around you, Lord Hartforde!
Does it not calm your soul to be surrounded by such beauty? Don’t
you ever want to feel the earth under your feet?” She realized her
panegyric was having absolutely no effect on him, and she reddened.
“How did you get to be such an old fogey?” she asked angrily. She
snatched up her boots and told herself he probably knew full well
how handsome he looked in his riding clothes. “You can’t be so much
older than I.” She smiled as she said these last words, but it did
not appear to improve his mood. Deciding, wisely, she thought, not
to bother with her stockings, she pulled them out of the toes of
her boots and surreptitiously let them fall to the ground away from
his view.

“
I’m thirty-one,” he said finally,
staring down at her with a look that told her she had better be
quick about putting on her boots.

“
Even such an advanced age as that
shouldn’t mean one cannot appreciate the beauty around him.” She
looked pointedly at him and started to pull on one of the boots.
“You’d best look away if you do not want to see my ankles, sir.
Remember, I warned you once before.” Shrugging when he refused to
look away, she pulled on the other boot.

“
This old fogey seems to have
escaped your siren call,” he said wryly when she stood
up.

“
Well, I’m sure I’ve spoiled you
for other women now.” She saw he was smiling and she smiled back at
him. Was it too much to hope he might actually be courteous for a
change?

“
Don’t forget your stockings,” he
said. “You seem to have dropped them over there.” He
pointed.

Isobel glowered at him and stalked over to pick them
up. “Just what do you expect me to do with them? I haven’t any
pockets!”

“
I shan’t be indelicate enough to
suggest you put them on, so perhaps you had best give them to me.”
He held out a hand. “I’ll see they are returned to you.”

She thrust them into his outstretched hand and he
folded them with a great show of delicacy before stuffing them into
his pocket.

“
Do you mind if I inquire about
your saddle?” he said as he walked alongside her up the slight
incline to where his horse was standing next to Boots.

“
Oh. Well. It was in the way,” she
explained, wondering just how she might explain it without
convincing him she was indeed the fool he thought her to
be.

“
Yes, but where did you leave
it?”

“
Over that way.” She pointed
vaguely in the direction from which she had ridden. “Have you seen
Julia this morning?” she asked in the hopes it would divert his
attention from the subject of the saddle, being fairly certain he
was already not too pleased with her.

He shook his head. “Miss St. James, your attempt to
change the subject is pitifully transparent. I shall not be so
easily diverted from learning why you decided to ride without the
benefit of a saddle. Did it break?”

“
No.” They had reached the horses
and Isobel stopped next to Boots. “Well,” she said, “I hope you
have a pleasant ride.”

He wrinkled his forehead and sighed. “I have no
intention of letting you continue to ride alone. Perhaps in the
colonies you were permitted to ride unescorted. Such is not the
case here. You shall please do me the kindness of accompanying me
to the stable.”

“
I wouldn’t dream of burdening you
with my presence,” she said, anxious for him to leave and
increasingly doubtful he intended to do any such thing. “I’ll be
just fine, I assure you!”

“
You are, without any doubt, the
most difficult young lady I have ever had the displeasure of
knowing,” he said, bending to offer her his hand up. Isobel stared
at him and he sighed and straightened up. “What is the
matter?”

“
I’d much prefer to ride back
alone,” she said, trying to think of some way of convincing him to
let her ride back without him.

“
Miss St. James, if you do not get
on that horse this very instant, I shall put you there myself.” He
glared at her. “Have I made myself clear?”

“
I rode astride,” she said. She
felt herself go scarlet when she realized there was no way she was
going to avoid his seeing her legs dreadfully exposed as soon as
she got on the horse.

“
That is an inescapable
conclusion, even to one as dim as myself.” He cupped his hands and
bent again. “What is the trouble?” He straightened.

“
I won’t do it!”

“
Get on the damned horse, if you
please!”

“
No!”

“
Then I’ll put you on myself.” He
took a step toward her and his hand actually closed on her arm
before she shook him off.

“
All right, all right!” she
snapped.

His expression changed to surprise as she turned her
back on him and bent to pull her skirt between her legs and tucked
the hem into the front of her belt. “What in the good Lord’s name
are you doing?”

“
How else do you think I could get
on?” she snapped.

“
You never cease to amaze me,” he
said, bending once more to offer his cupped hands.

“
Not so hard!” she cried as he
heaved her upward. She would have fallen off if he hadn’t suddenly
grabbed her leg and steadied her. Her skin was burning where his
hand grasped her thigh. She looked down at the fingers pressed into
her stockingless skin; they were long and slender, and the nails
looked freshly manicured. Her skin was tingling where he touched
her and her stomach suddenly felt as though it were dipping over. A
slow warmth spread over her as his hand lingered on her. His touch
was—almost—a caress. When he lifted his hand she saw hooded green
eyes that brought back the fluttering in her stomach in its full
disturbing force.

“
Your legs quite live up to the
promise of your ankles, take it from an old fogey who should know,”
he said, running a finger lightly down the line of her leg. His
mouth lifted at one corner when he saw her shiver at the contact.
He turned away and she stared at his back, watching the play of
muscles through his clothes as he mounted his horse in one fluid
motion.

She kicked Boots into a gallop as soon as he was up.
She had to do something to take her mind off the way she was still
tingling from his touch. Alexander’s bigger horse had no trouble
keeping up as they galloped over the fields. She heard him shout
when they reached the fence where she had left her saddle, but she
ignored him and jumped the gelding easily over it.

“
I didn’t think I could stay on
when he jumped! That was so exciting!” she cried as he rode up to
where she sat on Boots. “I can’t wait to do that again!” She was on
the point of turning her horse around to do just that when he
stopped her by reaching over to snatch the reins from her
hands.

“
Didn’t it bother you that you
might have broken your neck, you little fool?” he snapped as he
dismounted and held up his hands to help her down.

“
It never occurred to me.” She
laughed, swinging her leg over the horse’s back.

His hands tightened around her as he lifted her down
and they lingered there, nearly circling her waist. His eyes
suddenly darkened and, for a brief heart-pounding moment, Isobel
thought he meant to kiss her. Her eyelids fluttered downward in
anticipation, but he suddenly let her go. He grabbed the reins of
her horse and walked quickly to where her saddle lay on top of the
fence. While Isobel rearranged her skirts, he resaddled Boots.
Then, with a deliberately expressionless face, he helped her back
up.

They rode slowly back to the house, both lost in
silence until Alexander asked abruptly, “How is it you’re so
different? Are all American women like you?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m myself. It’s the
only way I know how to be.”

“
Surely you did not ride without a
saddle in America?” He was touched at the sudden look of sadness
that crossed her face. “Or did you spend your time doing the
accounts for your cousin?” It was infuriatingly difficult to
continue the indifference he had promised to feel towards
her.

“
I am doing my best to forget I
ever lived in New York,” she said. “I hated it there. I did not
know how miserable I was until I came to England.” The searching
look he gave her made her stomach do flips again, and in
self-defense she changed the subject. “Tell me how you got to be
such a stern old man.”

“
A stern old man? On the contrary,
I am a mature adult who knows better than to cross the bounds of
propriety—even when I am alone.”

“
Is that the trouble? Have I
offended your sense of propriety?”

“
What if it hadn’t been I who
found you?” he chided her. “Another man might have had his way with
you and there would have been nothing you could do about it. You
should not have gone riding alone.”

“
But I like being
alone.”

“
Miss St. James,” he fixed her
with an icy look, “that is hardly the point. The point is men have
certain physical desires and there are such of us who will take any
opportunity to satisfy them.”

“
Oh, yes, and then blame the woman
for their inability to act civilized,” Isobel retorted
heatedly.

“
You are being unfair,” he
said.

“
No, I am being accurate. Life is
more fair for some than for others, do you not agree, my
lord?”

“
Miss St. James, you are an
impossible young woman.”

“
It has occurred to me, sir, that
every time we start to get along, one of us always says something
unpleasant to spoil it.” She thought to herself it was generally
his lordship, but she charitably refrained from telling him
so.

“
What ever made you think we were
getting along?” he asked mildly.

“
I should have thought that you,
of all people, would not resent a woman’s having a mind of her
own.”

“
What a charming child you are,”
he murmured.

She saw he was baiting her and for once she refused
to rise to it, choosing instead to look away. While they rode in
strained silence she thought about what he had said, and,
grudgingly, she had to admit he was right. No matter how unfair it
was, she would have been defenseless had someone come along and
wanted to do her harm. She put her hand on his arm and, though he
raised his eyebrows at her in that maddening way of his, she
managed a smile. “I’m sorry, Lord Hartforde. You were perfectly
right,” she said contritely as they came up to the stable. “About
the danger of being out alone, I mean. I apologize for being a brat
and I take back what I said about your being a stern old man. Do
you forgive me?” She gave him what she hoped was a charming smile
as they rode up to the stable.

“
Such an insult is not easily
forgiven.” He grinned at her and they both laughed when she stuck
out her tongue at him. He lifted her off the horse and immediately
turned his back on her to talk with the head groom. The two
conversed quietly while Isobel sat down by the door to play with
the puppies. They recognized her and scrambled playfully into her
lap when she sat down. As usual, the black-and-white one demanded,
and got, most of her attention.

Alexander nearly tripped over her as he walked
briskly toward the door. She was sitting on the dusty floor of the
stable, her legs folded under her. “What in bloody hell—Miss St.
James, what are you doing on the ground? I damned near tripped over
you!” he added when she looked at him as though she had no idea
what he was getting so upset about.