14. Chapter 14
He led Zeus out of the mews. The majestic animal eyed her as they neared. Annabelle sensed him sizing her up. Would she make a tasty snack, be worthy of touching him, or dare to try and ride him?
She smiled up at him, meeting his soulful gaze, but made no move to touch him. Not yet.
As for his owner, the brief bout of insanity she’d suffered that had tempted her to soften toward him had died more quickly than a person could say “wear my doxy’s gowns.” He could rot.
“I think it’s best we lead him through the village proper. No sense giving the good people of Fenwick more fodder for gossip. It will look bad enough seeing the two of us heading to the outskirts of town, alone.”
She sniffed. “I could ride while you walk.” As any gentleman would have offered, went unsaid.
He scoffed at that.
She leveled him with a cold stare. “What’s so funny?”
He shook his head. “No disparagement of your horsewoman skills intended, but I doubt you’re a match for Zeus on your own. He’s never permitted anyone but me to ride him. Leastways not without giving them a piece of his mind.”
She sent him, she hoped, a withering glare, then, moving cautiously, but not too cautiously, she reached out, allowing him to sniff her hand.
He would have balked if Sterling—Viscount Randall—did not have a firm grip on the reins. She discerned that easily—in his snort, the slight jerk of his head, the pricking of his ears, and widening of his dark eyes.
She stood still, and waited for him to decide he’d tolerate her. In turn, he responded with a wary acceptance, nostrils flaring and breath puffing against the back of her raised hand, but otherwise he remained utterly still while watching her with his bottomless eyes.
“Of course you’re discriminating,” she murmured. “Because you’re magnificent, as you very well know.”
He leaned closer, his eyes growing softer. He touched her hand with his warm, whiskered muzzle, then moved back. His perfectly formed, pointed ears pricked forward over his wide forehead, and he gave another snort.
And then he gave a soft, approving whicker and stretched to sniff at her hair.
She giggled. “Stop it, Zeus. That’s my hair, not hay. I know it looks the same, but it doesn’t taste the same.”
The horse moved his muzzle down then, whiskery over the soft skin of her neck. Finally, he rested his nose on her shoulder and gave a deep sigh of contentment. Apparently, he’d decided he liked her.
Success! A sluice of happiness went through her. She kissed Zeus’s cheek, sleek and soft beneath her lips.
“Yes, I know. You are such a handsome boy. No beast can compare to you. Utterly resplendent, you are, with your sleek muscles, superior form, and black-as-night coat,” she whispered, mouth curving into a crooked smile for him alone.
“I will ride you, darling, and I will enjoy the feel of your powerful body beneath me, and you will love—”
Her words cut off abruptly as Lord Randall broke into a coughing fit, drawing both hers and Zeus’s startled attention. The horse, to her mind, looked almost offended as she was at the interruption.
Annabelle dropped her arm to her side. “That wheeze probably owes to your mid-afternoon imbibing.”
“No doubt,” he agreed dryly.
She’d only been poking at him with that comment.
While it was true some men’s complexions did color with alcohol consumption—Gaston’s did, which was one of the reasons he rarely drank to excess, and one of the reasons she doubted Lord Randall’s version of events on that fateful night—she did not actually believe Lord Randall typically lounged about drinking to his altitudes on any given afternoon.
She huffed in annoyance—with herself, and the need to retract her statement that she had no business feeling. “If you must know, Lady Caroline made it clear you do not have an irresponsible bone in your body. I know you are not a heavy drinker.”
“How generous of you to say so. And what exactly did my sister tell you of my character?”
“That you could do with a little less rigidity. According to Lady Caroline, you hold yourself to exacting standards, and dread above all else making any choice that is less than perfect.”
He snorted. “That is absurd.”
“She said, and I quote, you are everything a girl could wish for in an older brother, aside from your boorish tendencies to be controlling and priggish where she and your younger brother are concerned.”
He frowned at her. No longer looking the least amused.
She smiled. Good. She gestured forward. “Shall we? Or do you want to spend the evening in Fenwick?”
Taking his grunt as assent, she marched ahead.
He caught up easily. “You…er…have always enjoyed horse riding?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Do you like all desserts, or merely chocolate?”
What an odd thing to say. How did that relate to her skills as an experienced horsewoman? She spared him a quick glance. “Since you ask, yes, I am partial to chocolate.”
“I thought as much,” he murmured.
She frowned at him, trying to work out what sort of insult he intended by the quip. “What of it?”
“I noticed that after our meal the other night. You seemed to enjoy the chocolate.” He arched his brows at her as if encouraging her to elaborate.
She sniffed. He wanted to engage in polite conversation, now? No, thank you. Not after his unspeakable rudeness. And anyway, it was clear his opinion of her had not changed one iota from the day they’d met.
Just as she began to consider he might have a few, minuscule, redeeming qualities, he insulted her gown and then had the unspeakable gall to offer her the use of another lady’s dresses.
She would not be caught dead in his cast-off hand-me-downs.
She’d sooner wear one of Babette’s maid uniforms or go naked.
So caught up was she in her thoughts, it took her a moment to realize he’d stopped walking.
She shifted ‘round to see what had kept him and found him standing stock-still, one hand splayed on his hip, frowning at her, though not in the annoyed manner he reserved, as far as she could tell, for her alone. More in the manner of someone gearing up for something unpleasant.
“I think we can probably mount up here,” he said, darkly.
She did not bother to staunch the smile curving her lips at the prospect. She would finally ride Zeus.
***
He swung himself up into the saddle, not wanting to risk Zeus throwing Annabelle and breaking her pretty little neck before he could join her. Although the temperamental animal did seem to have fallen under her spell, exactly like every other male seemed inclined to do.
He looked down into her upturned face and found himself subjected to the same icy regard she’d aimed at him since they’d left the stable yard. So he’d made the unkind crack about her dress. He’d offered to furnish several others for her use.
She was acting as if he’d shot her dog, or, more aptly, her pony.
Bracing himself for the torture that lay ahead, he reached for her with both hands, hefting up her lithe form and settling her before him on the saddle in one move. She fit perfectly, perched there on her very fine bottom, legs draped over one side.
Her nose high in the air, back arched rigid as a bow string, she gave every indication the thought of touching him any more than absolutely necessary was anathema to her.
Excellent.
“I’m quite secure,” she said in a peeved tone. “I have hold of Zeus’s mane. And I have good balance. You may remove your hands.”
Hell and damnation. With a grunt of annoyance he hadn’t meant to loose, he lifted his hands from her—hands that, until that moment, still bracketed either side of her waist as if they belonged there. The woman had muddled his brain.
“One of my arms will need to remain around you—for stability, as we ride,” he muttered.
“It’s not necessary, I assure you.”
“Fine.” If she tumbled off his horse, so be it.
Reaching around her, carefully, so as not to brush against her, he scooped up Zeus’s reins then used his heels to signal it was time to move.
Zeus set off.
Graceful as a swan, Annabelle swayed in time to the rhythm of his movement.
The weather was fine, and she’d loosened the ties of her cloak, so it draped over her upper back.
Unable to curb the impulse, Sterling allowed his gaze to drift over her slender nape.
Her scent, that uniquely herbal blend, still clung to her enough to tease his nostrils, twisting his insides and tightening his groin.
“Annabelle,” he began, grateful that she faced away from him. “About last—”
“Lady Annabelle,” she corrected.
He drew in an annoyed breath. “My apologies. Lady Annabelle. About last night.”
He wouldn’t have believed it possible, but she actually stiffened.
Conversation halted as Zeus started up an incline. Despite her obvious efforts, she leaned backward as their angle shifted.
On instinct, his arm tightened around her waist, cinching her to him.
Blood of the saints. The feel of her against his chest, her thigh, and the curve of her bottom half atop his groin had his cock going hard before he had a chance to blink. Her ensuing shimmy to restore distance between them was not helping the situation.
“A moment, if you please,” he gritted out, trying with little success to steer his mind off the sweet juncture where their bodies met.
Thankfully, she stilled. One shift further, and she might very well graze the base of his erection.
Several seconds later, seconds that stretched into eternity, she grasped Zeus’s mane again and, with surprising strength, tugged herself forward.
“Are you quite all right?” she asked.
“Yes.” No. “Why do you ask?” Perhaps she had noted his unfortunate state.
“Because you seem…just now you seemed warm, and your breathing is a bit ragged.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Well, then. What was it you wished to discuss about last night? The…er…rooftop experiment?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She cleared her throat. “The experiment whereby I kissed you?”
He smiled, charmed despite himself. She was trying so hard to be flippant about what had happened. But her voice, pitching higher with each word, gave her away.