“I have ye, lass.”
Yes, he did. “I tripped on a horseshoe,” she said, stupidly. But how could she think of anything to say when that clean, woodsy smell was all around her and his large arm was clamped about her?
“Are ye steady now?”
“Não,” she said. “You had better hold on to me.”
He let out a breath. “I dinnae what tae do with ye, lass.”
“I can think of a few things.” She smiled at him when he released her.
“Why dinnae we walk aboot the yard for a wee bit? Stretch yer legs and work oot the stiffness?” He offered his arm, which was very proper. She thanked him and took it, allowing him to lead her in a circle about the yard.
“How are you feeling, senhor?” she asked.
“Still weary,” he said covering a yawn. “Though I slept all day. I’m like a bairn who needs a nap everra three hours.”
“The surgeon did say you should not be traveling. No doubt you would be stronger if you had another day to rest.”
“I would be deader, there’s nae doubt.”
“Fortunately, you do not have a fever.”
“Och.” He waved a hand. “I’m made of sterner stuff than tae catch a fever from a wee hole in the arm.”
He was lucky, that was all. But men did seem to think they were invincible. They came to the edge of the stable, and she paused to stretch her back. Looking up at the stars just coming out in the night sky, she said, “It is a pretty night. I never see such stars in London.”
“Aye. Beautiful.”
His tone caught her attention, and she glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking at her. A quick look about told her the yard was empty at the moment. Fortescue and Emmeline had gone into the inn, and the grooms were settling the horses from the coach inside. “Would you think me too scandalous if I asked for that kiss now?”
His eyes widened but not with shock. With interest. “Verra scandalous. I willnae kiss ye, lass.”
“What if I kiss you?” She moved closer, and when he didn’t step back, she moved closer yet, so close she brushed his chest. Still he stood his ground, his amber eyes fixed on her face as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I do not know much about kissing,” she said, looking up at him. “But I believe you must lower your head.”
“I dinnae think I should kiss ye, lass.” But his arms went around her waist, and he pulled her even closer.
“Then someone else will,” she whispered. “I want you to be the first. I know you will do it right.”
“Ye ken that, do ye?” His hand came up and brushed a loose tendril of hair from her cheek. His touch was surprisingly tender for such a big man. The heat in her belly at his closeness flared, and she felt a shock of desire.
“One kiss,” she whispered, turning her mouth so her lips brushed his palm. He hissed in a breath, and his grip on her tightened.
“It’s never only one kiss, lass.”
“Good,” she murmured as she tugged his head down. To her surprise, he complied, lowering his head until their lips were only inches apart. She tried to close the distance, but he resisted.
“I’ve been wanting tae kiss ye since the first time I laid eyes on ye in the coach,” he said.
Her eyes widened at the revelation. So he had wanted her from the start too.
“I’ve resisted yer efforts tae tempt me because I dinnae want Draven tae kill me. But Draven will kill me anyway.”
“I will not let him,” she murmured.
He flashed a smile. “If anyone can put him off, ye can. But ken this, lass. I kiss ye because I want tae. And damn the consequences.”
“Sim,” she said. Damn the consequences. And then his mouth was on hers and she could not think of anything else to say. She could not think.
Like his hand, his mouth was light and tender. The kiss was sweet, a press of lips against lips, just long enough to make her want more.
Then he pulled back. “There. Ye’ve been kissed.”
She was breathless, and her heart hammered so loudly in her ears that she felt like a drummer stood behind her, pounding away. “Again,” she said, her voice sounding so very faint and far away.
“That’s nae a good idea.” But he didn’t move away. He didn’t release her. She wrapped her hand in his hair and tugged his mouth down to hers again, and he didn’t resist. This time when his mouth met hers, she kissed him back, sweet and tender until the end, when she nipped his lip.
He jolted and looked in her eyes. “Christ and all the saints.”
She looked right back into his eyes, challenging him to scold her. Instead, he pushed her against the stable, pressed his body to hers, and took her mouth with his. This was not a kiss, but an invasion of the senses. Her hands tangled in his soft hair then slid down his broad muscled back. The scent of him and the horses and the nearby fields was in her nose. The taste of him, wild and untamed, was on her lips. She drank him in as though she were a woman dying of thirst. He parted her lips and slid inside, and she moaned with pleasure. Ines had no idea how to kiss, but it seemed to be a battle of twining tongues and clashing lips. She’d always been a fighter, and this was a battle she was determined to win.
His groan when she slid her tongue between his lips was enough to let her know she had the upper hand. That and she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
And how she wanted.
She did not think she had ever wanted anything or anyone as much as she wanted him in that moment.
Abruptly, he stiffened, and his lips ceased their skillful plunder of her mouth. She let out a small sound of protest and tried to pull him back, but he broke away and stood straight, leaving her too far from his lips.
“I do hate to interrupt,” said a male voice with a very cultured English accent. “But if that woman is who I think it is, then someone ought to tell you that your hours are numbered.”
Duncan turned to look at the man, and in doing so, Ines had a clear view of him as well. He was tall and slim with honey-colored hair and light eyes. He was dressed in riding clothing that looked as though its cost rivaled some of her best pieces of lace.
“Mayne,” Duncan said, his voice wary.
“Murray,” the man said, then his gaze slid to her. His expression turned to one of annoyance and then slight exasperation. “Miss Neves, I presume?”
“And who are you, senhor?”
Duncan blew out a breath. “Miss Ines Neves, allow me tae introduce the Duke of Mayne.”
STRATFORD
“Oh, no,” Stratford said when the door to the private room he’d secured for dinner opened. Emmeline turned and, not seeing Murray or Miss Neves or the innkeeper with the tea they’d ordered, looked back at Stratford with a quizzical expression, her hand on Loftus’s head to keep him calm.
“I should have known you’d be involved in this,” Mayne said, walking into the room as though he owned it. For all Stratford knew, the duke did own it. He removed his hat and nodded his head at Emmeline. “Miss Wellesley, isn’t it?”
She stood. “Your Grace. What an unexpected pleasure.”
Mayne took her hand and kissed it, his green eyes meeting Stratford’s to gauge his reaction. Stratford kept his face inscrutable. Like most members of the upper classes, they knew each other in passing. What did Stratford care if the duke kissed Emmeline’s hand? Although, he didn’t see the need for Mayne to keep hold of it for so long.