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Laughter bubbled in the back of Stormy’s throat, but she wasn’t about to let him know how much she relished his discomfort. Hanging her head she pretended to feel chastised and STORMY HEIDE KATROS

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started to walk out of the stables with an exaggerated wriggle of her derrière. She turned at the entrance, just to look at him once more in time to see him swallow convulsively.

Straight-faced, she speared him with a questioning gaze. “You will be waiting, won’t you? I shan’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need.” God, he prayed she would leave him standing here all day and never come back. How was a man to keep his sanity, if such delicious baggage sashayed around in clothing that suggested more than it actually showed?

Stormy ran all the way to her rooms. The riding habit of green velvet with ecru piping lay already on the bed. She slipped out of her breeches and into the dress with its divided skirt.

Surely, it was all right to ride astride? She wasn’t about to wrap her knee around the pommel and sit the horse in that ungodly way.

For a second she debated whether she should wear the tiny feathered hat that went with the dress, but she decided against it. It would be in her way, when she raced ahead. And race ahead she would. She would challenge that pompous man. Grinning from ear to ear, she clattered down the curved stairway and bolted out the door.

Her exuberance faded, when she saw the chestnut gelding at the mounting block already saddled with one of those side saddles she so thoroughly despised. Arms akimbo, she tapped one booted foot in a staccato rhythm and stared at André with utter contempt. “You don’t expect me to ride like that across the fields? Surely, you must be jesting. I am used to sitting astride.”

André’s lips compressed into a reproving line. “Mademoiselle, if you wish to be shown about the English countryside, then I must insist that you do so in the manner of the English ladies. Either you sit side-saddle or you may stay home. Better yet, a groom could drive you in the carriage.”

Her eyes sent daggers his way, but she stomped toward the waiting horse and would have mounted him, had André allowed her to do so. But ever the gentleman, despite his rakish looks, he reached for her and lifted her onto the saddle as if she weighed next to nothing.

The warmth of his hands, his scent, and sheer power of him stole her breath. She meekly settled herself in the saddle. Shocked by all the male magnetism, she simply wrapped her knee around the pommel and grabbed the reins. Her heart beat an erratic tattoo, while she fought hard not to let him see that he had managed to shake her self-confidence.

“What’s my mount’s name?” She tossed her head to let him know she wasn’t about to give way meekly.

His lips quirked with mischief, and he didn’t meet her gaze. “I believe it is Sugarplum.”

It was an outright lie, but her disgusted snort gave him a small sense of satisfaction of having put one over on her.

Actually, he hadn’t missed the flash of insecurity in her eyes and it didn’t sit well with him. He really didn’t want to subdue that enticing wild streak in her. He only wanted to tame her a little. Lust curled through him at that thought. Clenching his hands into fists, he rolled his shoulders to loosen their tightness and marched over to his own mount Without a word he vaulted into Rebel’s saddle and rode a few steps ahead.

Stormy watched his straight back and the way he sat his horse with the ease of one who had been born to ride. She was content to let him stay in front, so she could check his backside to her heart’s content.

She grinned. He did indeed have a nice backside and a trim waist. For the first time she truly noticed the breadth of his shoulders. No wonder he was such a magnificent fencer. Her eyes strayed to the dark hair that curled lazily over the collar of this shirt. She envied the wind STORMY HEIDE KATROS

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the opportunity of ruffling the thick mass, because she itched to run her fingers through it. La, come to think of it, she wished she hadn’t been quite so distraught moments earlier and taken a better look at his chest. She suppressed an impish grin. It was so naughty to think about the glimpse of bare skin the open collar had afforded her. But thoughts were unrestricted, so why shouldn’t she dwell on his superb physical traits.

She shrugged. There was plenty of time to look her fill. In the meantime she needed to plan her strategy for his comeuppance.

André was fully aware that he was being ogled from behind. Irritated, he slowed his mount and swiveled around in the saddle. He was unprepared that his gaze would collide with hers. Mischief and unspoken challenge stared back at him. Heat crawled along his spine. She certainly was a brazen baggage. It cost him, but he managed to rein his temper in.

Gesturing vaguely into the distance, he deliberately spoke without inflection. “I thought we’d ride to the top of that hill over there. It offers a superb view of the countryside.” He almost mentioned his own estate, Greenbriar, but that would have meant more explanations than he was ready to give.

Slightly abashed by his aloofness, Stormy decided she had better sheathe her claws. The time would come when she would get the chance to show him up. Slapping her gelding’s side, she nudged him abreast with Rebel with a smile of gratitude. After that they rode companionably side by side with André pointing out some of the reasons why Stormy’s grandfather had named his holdings Emerald Hills.

“The grass is especially lush here and your uncle Thomas is proud of the cattle he raises.

I ….” He bit his lip. Gad, he almost slipped again. What was it about Stormy that invited confidences? This was not the time to tell her that his estate lay nestled on a hilltop much like the one they were cresting at the moment.

The view proved to be breathtaking. Stormy stared in wide-eyed wonder as rolling hills unfolded below her. Dotted with copses of trees and herds of cows, it made her homesick. Not that Dreamscape had anything close to the landscape of England, but it did coax up memories of flat lands as far as the eye could see and visions of her horse Belle.

André watched Stormy, thinking what a complex woman she was. He saw the tears gathering in her eyes and he recognized them as tears of nostalgia. He reached out to comfort her, but the minute his hand touched hers, her gaze flew to his face. Something akin to shame showed in her expressive eyes and with a groan of disgust, she wheeled the gelding around and headed down the hill at breakneck speed.

It took André completely off guard. Damn, he was responsible for her safety. He jerked at Rebel’s bit, incurring a shrill protest from the horse and chased after her.

“Hold up, Michaella. You are headed the wrong way.”

She either didn’t hear him or chose not to listen. He didn’t know which, but the last thing he wanted was for her to enter that particular copse of trees. And as if Mother Nature had it in for him, it started to rain. The first fat drops came down in lazy intervals, but within seconds the sky opened up and poured out an unbroken sheet of water, making visibility almost non-existent.

Ducking against the heavy downpour, he kept her fleeing form in sight. Damn the woman. She couldn’t have picked a worse time. Before he could catch up with her, she rode directly into the path of a large branch.

André cringed when he heard the harsh snap, and his heart catapulted in his chest, when he could do nothing but watch as it knocked her out of the saddle. The sudden jolt spooked her STORMY HEIDE KATROS

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gelding and it galloped on without her. André was off his horse before the animal stopped running.

He fell to his knees next to her prone form, uncaring that the dampness soaked his breeches, and his breath snagged in his throat when he looked down at her prone unmoving form.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment to gather his wits and ever so gently turned her on her back. Bloody hell, how could this have happened to him, and how would he explain that he had let it happen? Why in God’s name had he allowed himself to be maneuvered to even take her for a ride? He leaned down and laid his ear against her chest.

He almost sobbed with relief, when she stirred beneath him and moaned. But relief was short-lived. Damn, Emerald Hills was a good hour’s ride. Could he risk setting her in front of him and ride back? Why had that stupid horse of hers taken off? He could not chase after the animal and leave her behind. He would find his way back to the stables soon enough, horses did.

And if he were found by someone, chances were they would return him.

He raked a shaking hand through his dripping mane and raised his eyes heavenward to heave a pensive sigh. This situation put him in a damned fix. Wearily, he gnawed on his lower lip, when a gust of wind slammed him with a sheet of icy rain. His head snapped up and he swore like a seasoned sailor.

No longer thinking about consequences or outcome, he snatched Stormy into his arms and started out at a run. It wasn’t far to the hunting lodge, at most a ten minute climb, but he didn’t even want to think about what would happen once they arrived there.

The rain started to come down heavier. He felt the dampness through his jacket and bent forward to protect her as much as he could. It bothered him that she had not moaned or stirred in his arms and it scared him at the same time. He lengthened his strides and hoped that Stuart, his long time manservant had a fire going.

Stormy regained consciousness the moment André laid his head on her chest and heaved a sigh of relief. She almost giggled, but her head hurt and she kept her eyes closed, because she didn’t feel like answering the questions she was sure would come. She could feel his annoyance with her. Of course, he had every right to be cross. If she had slowed when he called out to her, this would have never happened.

But damn the man, it shouldn’t have happened to begin with. She simply didn’t know what to think, when she was near him. She hadn’t been sure whether it had been concern or condescension she’d seen in his eyes. The words “country bumpkin” still echoed vividly in her mind, and she did not like him to think she was some simpering miss just because she had been overcome by a bit of homesickness.

She continued to feign unconsciousness, as she mentally assessed her injuries. Gad, why didn’t that man go away and find her horse, so she could collect her senses? She certainly was not in the mood to hear his lecture on how to ride. She almost forgot to play possum, when she thought about that. If he hadn’t insisted on her riding side-saddle, she would have been able to keep her seat and duck that damned limb that knocked her off the horse.

Her musings were suddenly interrupted, when muscled arms reached under her bottom and slipped beneath her shoulders. Seconds later she found herself pressed against his hard chest. Until that moment, she had forgotten about the sudden downpour and realized that he must have been bending over her to keep the rain from hitting her. A little shiver ran through her, though she wasn’t sure whether it was from cold or nerves. Nerves? Why should she feel nervous in the presence of this cad?

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She briefly considered pushing away from the warmth and security, but his masculine smell and the play of muscle against her cheek felt too good to relinquish. The sound of his heart was yet another comforting factor and so she continued to pretend to be unconscious and snuggled a little closer.

André broke into ground eating strides, even though the carpet of pine needles became slicker with each passing minute. It was imperative to get her out of her wet clothes, before the chit suffered an attack of ague. His jaw clenched with the effort to keep his balance. Only a few more minutes, he reminded himself. The hunting lodge was already within sight, though you had to know its location, since it was cleverly concealed among artfully cultivated shrub and undergrowth.

A pang of guilt chased through Stormy when he slipped and cursed under his breath. She certainly had taken advantage long enough. Opening her eyes, she stared up into his set features.

She hadn’t noticed the little cleft in his square jaw before and even though he’d clamped his mouth together as he fought for balance, he still had beautifully sculpted lips. Her eyes traveled further upward. For a moment she forgot to breathe. The man had lashes that were sinfully long. No wonder she never could make out the color of his eyes.

She bit her lip, suddenly contrite with herself. What was she doing ogling the man under the pretense of being unconscious? That was hardly fair, and besides, she couldn’t stand the roué.

Determined to put an end to the farce, she squirmed in André’s arms. “You can let me down now. I can walk on my own,” she added caustically.

André glowered down at her, no longer relieved that she apparently hadn’t been hurt.

“Hold still you little hellion. We are almost there, and I don’t want to chance to see you slip and fall. But if you continue to squirm like that, we are liable to crash down together.”

The idea of landing atop of her evoked an array of unwanted images in his mind and he felt himself growing hard. Merde, that was the last thing he needed now. Besides, she was the niece of his best friend. How could he even have any feelings of that sort for her?

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It seemed scant minutes later when André set her down on a rough planked floor that was covered in animal hides in place of carpeting. A huge fireplace yawned empty at the other end of a large, sparsely furnished room.

Shrugging out of his sodden jacket, André muttered something under his breath and marched in purposeful strides toward the hearth. He’d expected a blazing fire and where the hell was Stuart?

Stormy watched as André’s back muscles worked beneath his damp shirt. He might as well have been naked. She swallowed, but she didn’t avert her gaze. Indeed, she was fascinated by his spare movements as he lighted kindling and had a fire going in no time. It came as a surprise, because she had assumed he was something of a fop, despite his prowess with the saber.