Susan Johnson (4 page)

D
arley swung Annabelle up into the lady’s sidesaddle, adjusted her stirrups, handed her the mare’s reins, and stepped back to admire her seat. “Your mama was right. You’re a natural in the saddle. Consider keeping the mare. She fits you perfectly.”

“She’s too expensive, as you well know, but thank you. Perhaps at another time I might have taken you up on your offer. But not at this juncture in my life.”

“That sounds like a declaration of great portent.”

She flashed him an easy smile. “Not in the least, my lord. I only meant my life is very busy at the moment.”

“Duff, please.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t say you’re becoming docile of a sudden,” he said with a smile, swinging up onto Romulus’s back.

“I am never docile,
Duff
.”

She uttered his name in a sultry contralto that registered in a portion of his anatomy that had been long dormant. Shifting in his saddle, he suppressed the spiking jolt of pleasure, conscious of both his promise to her and himself. This afternoon visit wasn’t about seduction. He wasn’t so dissolute. Nor had he ever been, even in his more prodigal youth. Sex wasn’t about records or numbers. It was about mutual pleasure. At the moment he was content to feel the warmth of the sun on his back, the supple power of prime bloodstock beneath him, and with the lovely Miss Foster at his side, he intended to take in the full beauty of a world he’d been absent from too long.

Annabelle, too, had been away from the world, although for different reasons. But about to see one of her favorite childhood places, she was feeling a modicum of exhilaration herself. Perhaps after weeks of taking care of her mother and Celia, the opportunity to ride to Bedloe was reason enough for her high spirits. That she was in the company of the handsomest man in England—as defined by the
Ton
, not necessarily herself, she carefully noted—couldn’t be discounted, either. She cast a surreptitious glance his way as though to confirm that assessment.

Duff smiled. “Ready?”

Maybe she
had
been away from the world too long. Discomposed by his direct gaze and the fact that
she’d
been caught out looking at him, she stammered, “Yes, yes…certainly—anytime.” Chagrined that her faltering reply made her sound like a wet-behind-the-ears schoolgirl, resolved that Darley’s good looks were
not
going to turn her head, she abruptly said, “Ten quid says I can beat you to Dunlow Chase.”

Her mare leaped forward at the flick of her whip.

Duff grinned and gave Romulus his head.

Eddie knew better than to give chase. Kicking his mount into a sedate trot, he followed at an easy pace. With the marquis having so recently emerged from his morbid despondency, he wasn’t about to superintend what could turn out to be a pleasant afternoon ride. The resplendent Miss Foster seemingly held the key to the marquis’s renewed good spirits. What better way to restore his master’s well-being than to allow him privacy with the lady?

Eddie had been with Darley from his youth, the men having grown up together. His father had served the former marquis as valet, his father’s father having filled the same role for the old Duke of Westerlands until his death. A Harley knew how to melt into the background at the appropriate time or he wasn’t worthy of the name.

And now was the appropriate time.

Annabelle’s mare reached the Chase first with a two-length lead. Reining in her mount, she smiled at Duff as he pulled up beside her. “You owe me ten quid,” she noted cheerfully.

“Didn’t I tell you the mare was fast?” Not as fast as Romulus, but he was always a gentleman.

“She’s an absolute darling.”

“She’s yours if you wish, you know.”

“I don’t wish.”

He smiled faintly. “I seem to be overly optimistic about my powers of persuasion.”

She gave him a narrowed glance, although a twinkle gleamed behind the fringe of her lashes. “You have your way too much, I suspect.”

He shrugged, not about to say if he had had his way these many months past, he would have erased the grim memories that haunted him and kept him awake at night. “Perhaps I do,” he said, and quickly changing the subject before being caught up in the grip of those memories, added, “We should have brought a picnic. I’m hungry already.”

Curiously, Annabelle also was—although she’d eaten a considerable amount at tea. “The inn at Bedloe serves excellent fare,” she offered.

“Perfect. Food first or the views at Bedloe first?”

“It’s up to you.” It was politesse only, for she was actually feeling peckish. Molly would be pleased, she thought, Cricket’s wet nurse continually chastising her for her lack of appetite.

“In that case, food.” Those close to Duff since his return home would have been as surprised as Molly.

“Will your batman know where to find you?”

If Eddie could find him lying on a battlefield in the dark and fog, Darley thought, he could find him in broad daylight on a country road. “I don’t expect a problem.”

She grinned. “Are you up to losing another five quid, then?”

He winked. “Maybe you’ll lose.”

“We’ll soon find out,” she replied gaily, feeling so lighthearted she might have considered some sorcery was at play if she wasn’t focused instead on beating Darley. “First one to the inn wins!”

He was thinking he was a winner already. “Done.”

She rode like she’d been born to the saddle, and he pressed her this time to see what the mare could do. Gimcrack’s bloodlines proved credible indeed; Romulus was running hard at the end.

As Annabelle’s mount careened into the inn yard, she reined the mare to a stop with finesse, and tossing a glance over her shoulder as Darley brought Romulus to a halt behind her, playfully said, “In consideration of your losses, perhaps I should buy
you
lunch.”

Duff could have bought the inn or the entire county if he wished. “I would be delighted,” he replied, bowing slightly from the saddle. “Seeing as you’re a woman of means.” Dismounting, he handed his reins to a stable boy.

“I am indeed.” She might not be able to buy the county, but the inn wouldn’t be beyond her means. Her fame and notoriety had had its compensations. Handing her reins to another young lad who had come up, she slipped her feet from the stirrups and smiled at Duff, who was reaching up to lift her down.

They stood close for a moment as he set her on her feet, his hands still on her waist. He took a small breath as his senses quickened.

She felt a sudden nervousness, as though she’d not stood this close to a man before.

Then his hands slipped away and he stepped back.

“You don’t wear riding gloves.” Like some missish young maid, she uttered the first thing that came to mind.

“I never have, although,” he added, turning his hands palm up, “I probably should. Calluses.” He smiled easily as though he was ready to discuss whatever she wished. “They’re not acceptable in the
Ton
.”

“Apparently it hasn’t mattered.” The fact that Darley stood apart from the crowd had never been in question.

“I admit lily-white hands have never been high on my list of priorities.” Crooking his arm, he nodded toward the inn. “Are you as hungry as I?”

How unconstrained he was. Relaxed and relaxing in turn. “Perhaps more,” she said with a smile.

He shot her a swift look. “And yet you’re slender as a willow”—he grinned—“except for those areas where you’re not.”

“You’re overstepping the rules of the day, Duff.” But she returned his grin as she placed her hand on his arm. “Now, I’m in the mood for pudding. How about you?”

For the first time in months he was in the mood for something else entirely, but ever courteous, he said instead as they moved toward the inn, “I believe a good baron of beef is more to my liking.”

Her brows rose faintly. “How terribly male.”

He looked amused. “I confess to the—what…infraction?” He smiled. “Shall we?” Having reached the door to the inn, he held it open for her.

The moment they entered the small parlor, conversation ceased and all eyes followed them as they moved toward the only unoccupied table in the busy tavern. The exclusively male crowd was blatantly openmouthed on seeing Annabelle, while the two barmaids’ covetous gazes were trained on Duff.

The fashionable couple’s grace and beauty aside, it wasn’t often that Bedloe Inn had customers of quality. Off the beaten path, far from even a village of any size, its primary trade was local farmers.

Pulling out a chair for Annabelle that gave her a view out the window, Darley took a seat opposite her. With her back to the room, she wouldn’t be as conscious of the gawking stares as they ate. And whether his decision was meant to assuage himself or her, he chose not to regard.

Even before Duff was fully seated, two smiling barmaids were at his elbows. “What might we do for you, me lord?” the older one said as her young compatriot giggled and openly stared. That the services they were offering were not exclusively food and drink was plain.

Annabelle watched with amusement as Darley ignored their adoring gazes and asked whether they had some good beef and hock.

The spokeswoman answered in the affirmative on both counts and added silkily, “If’n his lordship be interested in resting after his meal, we have some right fine rooms upstairs.”

The implication in the word
rest
was so abundantly clear, Annabelle suppressed an urge to laugh.

Darley noticed. “It’s entirely up to the lady,” he said casually, as though unaware of the barmaid’s inference. “Would you like to rest, my dear?”

“I would prefer eating,” Annabelle replied sweetly.

Duff looked up and offered the maids a bland smile. “We require only food and drink at the moment.”

As the maids retreated with sullen looks, Annabelle met Duff’s gaze. “You could have enjoyed yourself, my lord, with a pair of willing serving girls.”

“I’m already enjoying myself. Why would I look afield?”

“How polite you are.”

He shook his head. “Just discriminating. You’re a gem of the first water, Miss Foster, although I’m sure you know that. And you delight me.”

“I may not want to delight you.”

“Nevertheless, you do.” He smiled faintly. “I have no intention of doing more than enjoying the view. Rest assured, you’re safe.”

Somehow she knew she could take him at his word. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“There was nothing to misunderstand.”

“Most men are not so agreeable.”

“Perhaps most men haven’t seen what I’ve seen. To indulge in a pleasant ride and a rustic luncheon with a beautiful woman is the pinnacle of content.”

She forced herself not to overscrutinize his assessment. Although, in her experience, only guile and cunning would be behind such a description of
content
. But such ambiguities were better left unexamined. “We forgot to ask for pudding,” she said instead, opting for an innocuous topic of conversation.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait to ask for it when our serving maids return.”

She smiled. “Don’t tell me you shrink from their adulation? Surely you’re used to it.”

“I find it awkward.”

“You astonish me,” she said with genuine surprise. “You’ve been the object of female pursuit for years.”

He slid into a lounging pose and gazed at her from under his lashes. “Nevertheless, I dislike it.”

“Most men would be gratified by a female’s worshipful glance.”

“Surely, if anyone understands adoration and worship, you must. Do
you
find it satisfying?”

She made a moue.

“Exactly.” He tipped his head ever so slightly. “Now—enough of such inanities. Tell me how you happen to be in the country, or, if you prefer, I shall tell you how I have come to be here and we’ll have a nice coze while we wait for our food.”

“You tell me first.” Whether she was simply postponing an explanation or whether she would deny him one, she wasn’t sure.

He spoke then in a general way of his loss of interest in the fashionable world, telling her a little of his daily routine, of his family and stable. “Eddie is pleased that I’ve decided to race my thoroughbreds again. He’s been suffering more than I in my hermitage. I don’t suppose your mother might forgo your company for a day if I asked you to the races.”

“Perhaps,” she said, surprising herself with her answer.

“We could go just for the afternoon races if it would help.”

“That might be better.”

“You should consider taking my offer of the mare. You could race her.”

“You know why I don’t.”

“The gift is free of any liability. I mean it.” The price of the mare was a mere bagatelle for him, although he wasn’t so gauche as to say so. “She might win a few purses for you.”

“I don’t need money.”

“I didn’t mean you did. I only meant there’s pleasure in winning. You used to have a race stable. Have you given it up?”

“I did recently.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t have to explain.”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Darley.” She smiled. “You quite unnerve me.”

“Duff,” he corrected with a grin. “And I wager there isn’t much that unnerves you, me included.”

He may or may not be right, although she wasn’t about to admit to any indecision. The man had an inordinate natural charm—quite outrageous in its impact. In fact, for the first time in years, she found herself on the verge of feeling a distinct frisson of attraction.

She must have been rusticating too long, she decided.

Or she’d been in the company of so many selfish, calculating men of late that Duff was like a breath of fresh air.

Or maybe she was simply another in a long line of women who had succumbed to his enchantment, and her feelings had nothing to do with her life, past or present. “Ah—here’s your man,” she said with such obvious relief he took notice. Turning around, he looked out and saw Eddie dismounting in the yard.