Tessa's Touch (13 page)

Lord Anthony's last words to her before they'd
started off, however, had been immensely comforting. Over and over, she
replayed them in her mind. Capable and kind, he'd called her. There was nothing
loverlike in the words, of course, but his tone had indicated honest approval.
It meant far more to her than she would have expected.

Before she could reach the cottage, the drizzle
increased to a small but steady rain. At their next pause, she took the
opportunity to wipe off Nimbus's cut with her petticoat and the clean rain. She
was relieved to find it really was just a scratch, long but not deep enough to
need stitches.

Though she tried to distract her thoughts by
concentrating on Nimbus, she could not help wondering what she and Lord Anthony
would talk about when he returned.

If he returned.

She had just sighted the cottage ahead when she
heard the sound of hooves coming toward her along the path, and a moment later
Lord Anthony came into view, carrying a shielded lantern. He was riding
Cinnamon rather than his gray, but dismounted as soon as he reached her.
"Slow going, I see."

"Yes, I'm afraid it is going to take half
the night to get him back to the stables, for he needs to stop every few steps.
I've decided to stay here and let him rest for a while. Please don't feel you
have to remain out here with me, though I would appreciate it if you could send
a note to my father to keep him from worrying."

"I've already done so," he said, to
her surprise. "It purported to be from the Hilltops, saying that they had
invited you to stay the night because of the weather, and that you had
accepted, and would return home in the morning. I trust they have at least one
daughter?"

She nodded. "Cynthia —though she would no
more ask me to spend the night, even if it were blizzarding. She doesn't
exactly . . . consider me her equal."

"But does Sir George know that?"

"No, of course not." She stopped, for
he could not know how she shielded her father from the opinions of their
neighbors —nor did she particularly want him to, after what he'd said earlier.

"All is well, then. Let's check out the
cottage. If it is as empty as it appears, we can remain there until the rain
stops, and allow Nimbus to rest for a bit."

Tessa felt a wild thrill go through her at the
prospect of spending what could be hours alone —most improperly alone! —with
Lord Anthony. She knew she should protest, but she also knew that an
opportunity like this was unlikely to ever come her way again.

And it
would
be the best thing for poor Nimbus, she
belatedly realized.

"If . . . if you think it best," she
managed to stammer, hoping he could not hear any trace of eagerness in her
voice.

"I do. Come. I'm sure you wish to get out
of this rain as much as I do."

* *
*

CHAPTER 8

Anthony knocked at the door of the darkened
cottage, telling himself that they really had no choice if Nimbus was to escape
permanent injury —and Killer had been quite insistent that he do all he could
for the horse. Quite simply, he owed it to his friend. His feelings for Miss
Seaton were nothing to do with it.

"No answer," he said. The latch was
broken, and the door yielded easily to his push. "Hello?"

The cottage had the musty smell of a place that
had been vacant for some time. "Definitely empty —which helps to explain
the state of that fence back there. When I find out who owns this land, I'll
give him a piece of my mind for allowing it to fall into such a state."

Holding the lantern high, he surveyed the
cottage's single room. The furnishings consisted of a table, two rickety chairs
and a rough bedstead in one corner. The stone fireplace opposite the door still
had a black pot hanging on a hook, and a few sticks of firewood were stacked on
the hearth. The mantel held nothing but a half-burnt candle in a holder.
Throughout, the dust was thick and undisturbed.

"It seems safe enough," Anthony said
over his shoulder. "Come in and see."

She peered past him, but didn't come inside.
"We need to take care of the horses first. I don't suppose you thought to
bring any grain with you?"

"Actually, I did." Anthony felt a bit
foolish to have forgotten. Something about this girl seemed to addle his
thinking. Of course she couldn't follow him inside while holding the reins of
both horses.

He came outside to remove the saddle bags he'd
slung over Cimmamon's back. "I also thought to bring something for the two
of us to eat, since I didn't get dinner and I assume you didn't either. First
the horses, though."

They led the animals around to the rear of the
cottage and found a rough lean-to against the back wall that had clearly been
used as a makeshift stable and storage area.

"I believe they can both fit in
here," she said. "It's a mercy you brought Cinnamon back rather than
Cinder, as Nimbus likely wouldn't tolerate sharing such a small space with
him."

Anthony nodded. "I was thinking more of
your convenience when I brought her, but you're right. It's lucky that she is
the one horse Nimbus won't attempt to savage."

She bit her lip and glanced away, and he
realized belatedly that she had taken his words as another criticism on the
bay's temperament —not that it was undeserved. Still, he had no desire to
distress her further just now.

"There," he said when both horses
were tied out of the rain and munching on the grain he'd brought. "They'll
need water, too. I saw a cistern near the door."

Anthony went into the cottage, took the pot
from the fireplace, then came out and dipped it into the half-full cistern. The
water was dirty, full of fallen leaves, but it was better than nothing. He was
glad he'd brought other drink for Miss Seaton and himself, however.

"Here," he said, handing her the pot.
"I let the mare have a good drink back at the lodge."

The horses fed, watered, and bedded down, they
returned to the cottage. This time she ventured inside. "Are you— How long
do you think we should stay?" She nervously eyed the narrow bed. "It
could rain all night."

All night would be fine by him. "At least
an hour or two, for Nimbus's sake," he said. He closed the door behind
them, lit the candle on the mantelpiece from the lantern, then set the lantern
on the table. "I'll see if I can get a fire going." Glancing back at
her, he realized he meant that in more ways than one.

Taking off her sodden hat, she moved to sit in
one of the rough chairs by the table while he stacked kindling and lit tinder
from the candle. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he had a small blaze
going. He stood and dusted off his hands.

"Did you say you'd brought food of some
sort?" she asked, looking everywhere but at him.

"Not much, I'm afraid, but it'll be better
than nothing." He picked up the other satchel, which he'd left by the
door, and pulled out half a cheese, a loaf that had been fresh that morning,
and a bottle of wine.

He spread his handkerchief on the table for the
bread and cheese. "No glasses, I'm afraid," he apologized, setting
the bottle beside them, "but I did think to bring a knife." He deftly
opened the wine bottle, then began slicing bread and cheese.

Glancing up, he found her looking at him
strangely. "You couldn't have known when you left me that Nimbus was so
badly hurt, yet you clearly planned on staying here. Why?"

"It's raining. My Army training taught me
to prepare for any eventuality." He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug,
hoping it sounded convincing. Her look told him otherwise, however.

When she didn't reply, he met her gaze
squarely. "Very well, I confess I hoped to convince you to stop here for a
bit, even if Nimbus was walking perfectly well by the time I returned. You
intrigue me, Miss Seaton, and I thought this might be a splendid chance to get
to know you better."

Her brown eyes widened before she dropped her
gaze. "I . . . I see."

"Besides, as I said, it's raining,"
he continued in a casual tone that he hoped would put her at her ease. "If
you prefer, you can take Cinnamon and ride home now and leave me here to lead
Nimbus back to Ivy Lodge once he's rested a bit."

She shook her head. "No. I won't risk him
hurting you, too. I'll stay until he's ready to go on."

He wanted to assure her that he'd be in no
danger from the horse, but he wanted even more for her to stay.
"Besides," he said instead, "I was hungry and certain that you
were, too. You wouldn't wish to go home and ask for dinner after telling your
father you were dining out, would you?"

"No, I suppose not. It's bad enough young
Billy knows I rode out with you. He may tell Harold, but I'd rather not do
anything else to raise suspicion," she said wryly. "And you're right
—I'm famished." She picked up a slab of bread and cheese and proved her
words by taking a big bite.

Anthony hid a grin by doing the same, then held
out the wine bottle. "As we'll have to share, you should have the first
sip."

She regarded the bottle dubiously for a moment,
then gave a small shrug and took it, tilting it to her lips for a swallow.
Handing it back to him, she smiled. "I've never drunk directly from a wine
bottle before."

"I expect you've never been in any such
situation as this before," he replied, now grinning openly, trying
unsuccessfully to ignore the effect her smile had on him. "This is a night
of firsts for you, is it not?"

Tessa swallowed again before nodding, for her
thoughts flew unbidden to other "firsts" she had yet to experience —a
first kiss, a first —but no, that wasn't what he'd meant at all. Confused, she
took another bite of her bread and cheese while he took a long pull from the
wine bottle.

"You said that you've been hunting in the
Shires since you were a youngster," she commented, mainly to break the
awkward silence. "Has that been a tradition in your family?" She
realized that she had no idea who his family was. His father must be at least
an earl for him to be a lord, but she had never studied the family names of the
peerage.

"Only on my mother's side," he
replied. "The uncle I mentioned to your father, Alden Trowbridge, was
brother to her father, and mad for hunting. I used to visit him when I was a
lad, and he taught me all the finer points of riding and hunting. My own father
has never hunted, to my knowledge, and only one of my brothers has done much of
it."

"How many brothers do you have?" She
much preferred learning about him to talking of herself.

"Four. Two older, two younger." That
made his father at least a marquess, then. "My next older brother, Edward,
used to hunt, but gave it up after he married three years ago. Robert, the
eldest, was never much of a rider, and my younger brothers, Peter and Marcus,
hunted a bit early on, but didn't stick with it."

"Any sisters?" she asked.

He shook his head. "All boys —a source of
pride for my father." His smile was cynical. "I take it you have no
siblings?"

"No." She longed to ask who his
father was, but perhaps it would come out later. "There's my cousin
Harold, of course, but he's six years older than I, and didn't live on the
estate until my uncle came back to manage it, after my father's accident."

Lord Anthony nodded. "Is that when he
began working as horse trainer?"

"No, not until his —our— grandfather died,
two years ago, though he did work with Grandfather a bit before that." She
took the proferred wine bottle for another drink. He didn't seem startled by
her information, so she added, "I assume you have already heard that my
mother's father was a horse trainer, though you've been too much a gentleman to
ask outright."

"Someone did mention it during the first
meeting of the Quorn," he admitted, "but I don't see it as anything
to be ashamed of. After all, there are members of the nobility who train their
own horses."

She supposed that was true, though it didn't
apply in her case. Grandfather had been of merchant and yeoman stock.
"Thank you," she said. "So, where do you make your home when it
isn't hunting season?"

"London," he said with a grin that
told her he knew she'd wanted to change the subject. "Or, occasionally, at
Marland, though I can only take my parents in small doses."

"I see," she said mechanically,
trying to conceal her sudden shock. His father was the Duke of Marland, one of
the richest and most powerful men in all England. And she, daughter to a
country baronet and granddaughter to a horse-trainer, had been on the verge of
developing a
tendre
for
this man!

She took another swallow of wine.

"What of you?" he said when she
remained silent while she tried to wrap her mind around this unwelcome
revelation. "Have you always lived here in Leicestershire?"

"Me? Yes. I've never been more than twenty
miles from home, in fact." How rustic and provincial he must think her.

"A pity to have deprived London of your
presence —though I can't help but be glad of it."

At the teasing note in his voice, she blinked.
"Because I would undoubtedly have made a fool of myself in Town?"

He shook his head, his expression now gentle—
almost tender. "Because no one's had a chance to snap you up. And because
I might one day have the pleasure of showing you all that you have
missed."

For a brief moment, she allowed a bright
fantasy to weave itself in the air between them —a fantasy of balls and
laughter and love —but then she shook her head.

"Most unlikely, my lord. I could scarcely
leave my father to go gadding about London."
Even if we had the money
for such a trip
, she added
silently, the glittering images dissolving into far drearier ones of a
spinster's life spent nursing her father, until she grew too old and proper to
so much as sit a horse.

He reached across the table and took her hand
in his, startling in its size and warmth. "Someday it will be your turn,
Tessa Seaton," he said, as though he'd read her thoughts. "Perhaps
sooner than you think."

Her gaze flew to his and her breath caught in
her throat at the intensity she saw there. A sudden longing surged through her
that had nothing to do with balls or visits to London or even her beloved
horses. Surely it would not be so wicked to snatch one moment of pleasure that
she could remember through all of the dull years ahead?

"Anthony —my lord—" she whispered.

"Anthony. And please let me call you
Tessa. I've longed to do so from the time we first met."

"Of course," she said, then a small
laugh escaped her. "Not quite from the moment we met, as you did not then
know me at all," she reminded him.

"But I wished to," he said, his
answering smile holding a promise that both thrilled and frightened her.
"I spent the rest of that night wondering who my mysterious rescuer was
and scheming to find out somehow. Imagine my delight to find her again the very
next day." He squeezed her fingers in his own.

"Delight?" she breathed.

He nodded. "Definitely delight." He
rose, pulling her to her feet as well— pulling her close to him. "You're
something special, Tessa. Never doubt that." Lowering his head, he brushed
her lips with his. "Never doubt that," he repeated, then truly kissed
her— her very first kiss.

Tessa's eyes drifted closed and she clutched at
his shoulders, swept away by the sensation of his lips on hers, the intense
intimacy and urgency of his kiss. As all girls must, she'd imagined this moment
for years, but the reality was far more exciting. Tilting her head back, she
gave herself up to the moment.

His hands, first resting lightly at her waist,
now slid up her back, one pressing her more tightly to him, the other threading
through her hair at the nape of her neck. Instinctively, she parted her lips
and he teased the tip of her tongue with his.