Lord Will & Her Grace (27 page)

After a full hour, the horse was caught,
bridled and shaking. She had got within a few feet of the horse and
then turned her shoulder to him while pretending to be working on
the bridle. The horse’s curiosity had gotten the best of him in the
end, as she had known it would. He had walked up to her and put his
head over her shoulder. She had shown him the bit and he had
allowed her to slip on the piece of tack with only one whinny and
head toss.

Jane checked the tightness of the girth and
swung up into the saddle with well-practiced ease. Before she was
seated, the horse began backing up at full speed and then reared.
She leaned forward and pulled down hard on the reins. With a half
turn, the horse came down on all fours in breakneck speed. Instead
of hauling back on the reins, Jane leaned forward near his neck and
let the animal have his head. After circling the field four times,
the horse changed tactics.

She was going to get hurt. She could feel her
dwindling control over the animal slipping from her grasp.
Desperate to unseat her, the stallion began bucking and twisting in
mid air. An abrupt stop after a near fatal sideswipe of a tree
found Jane somersaulting off the horse’s back. She fought for
control of her lungs as she realized the wind had been knocked out
of her. The earl’s shadow fell across her face as she tried to sit
up.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. He began feeling
her legs and arms when she did not respond. She pushed away his
hands as she tried to get enough air to speak. Really, she just
wished he would give her space and time to regain her senses. When
she opened her eyes and sat up, she noticed a gash on her thigh.
The earl examined the wound as she tried to compose herself.

“You are in luck,” he said grimly. “Looks
like you’ll not need stitches.” He pulled a flask out of the
leather saddlebag lying in the grass and began sprinkling the
contents on the slash. She bit her tongue as the liquid burned the
raw edges of her skin. He untied his loose neck stock to bind the
wound.

“I’ll send a doctor to see to this, once you
return to your aunt’s house. It should be fine as long as it
doesn’t become putrid,” the earl added as he rocked back on his
knees.

“I’m fine, really, just fine,” insisted Jane,
embarrassed. She paused before continuing. “I now see how your
breeches came to be in their current state of disrepair.”

He smiled. A heavy silence descended on them
as the earl looked at the widow’s person for any other signs of
misfortune.

“Well, then.”

“Well, then what?” asked Jane, trying on her
most innocent voice but feeling all the nervousness of a never been
kissed girl of six and ten.

The corners of his lips curled as he looked
at her and pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I fear you have
a bit of dirt on your face.” His large hand felt warm as he brushed
the earth from her face. She could read desire in his gaze.

“As do you, my lord.” As his hand touched her
cheek again, she held her breath with anticipation and a bit of
fear. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

“Was that not the wager?” he asked with a
lazy drawl.

She looked up at his heavy lidded eyes and
whispered, “Yes.” Jane felt as if it were inevitable, yet she was
so uncertain. She had always been in control of every situation.
This was unchartered territory. Forbidden territory, really.

As he pulled her to her feet, he took her
hands. “Come, come, Mrs. Lovering. I am a gentleman. I would not
take advantage of you without your permission, especially when you
have already suffered battle wounds.”

She looked at him.

“I’ll take that as permission to continue.”
He cupped one side of her face with his palm and lightly kissed
her. She could feel the hot creep of a blush forming and dared not
look up at him. “You are embarrassed now,” he said.

She raised her eyes to his with anger. “I am
not.” She deliberately reached up and placed her arms around his
neck. She tugged his neck down to her and placed her passive lips
on his.

She felt him laugh against her lips. “Oh no,
Mrs. Lovering,” he said. “That’s not the way of it at all.” He
leaned one of his hands against the apple tree behind her as he
pulled her waist close to his body with the other arm, forcing her
to arch into his broad chest. “This is the way,” he whispered as he
lightly bit at her lower lip and then used the tip of his tongue to
gain entrance beyond her lips. She felt awash with heretofore
unknown longing and excitement. No one had ever kissed her like
this. His tongue urged her to respond in kind, as she yielded fully
to his embrace. She shivered with desire as a small moan escaped
her lips.

She breathed deeply. The masculine scent of
male and cologne made her throat ache. She could hear his ragged
breaths as his mouth moved down her neck, feathering kisses along
the way. He gathered her hand in his other and raised it to his
lips.

“Really, my dear, we should continue this in
the cottage nearby,” the earl whispered.

His words jolted Jane into action. She shook
off the mesmerizing trance and confronted the earl. “I think
not.”

“Mrs. Lovering, you are a widow. I am a
widower. What more need be said? Do you not long for a liaison? I
am here for you now, for the asking,” he whispered as he nipped the
lobe of her ear. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed
gently.

“You are very kind to offer. However, I am
not inclined.” Her words hid the truth; she was terrified by his
suggestion. As Jane did not want to show her fear and naiveté, she
continued, “Perhaps another time, if I am ever inclined that
is.”

Lord Graystock gazed at her. “If I did not
know you to have been married, I would take your reaction to be
that of a very green girl. Or are you just a coquette?” he
said.

He could see through her. Jane reached down
to retrieve the wrap skirt and secured it. She dared not say
another word, lest she say the wrong thing. Distance was the
answer. She walked to her horse and mounted without looking
back.

“I hope I have not scared you. It wasn’t my
intention.”

“You did not scare me, my lord. I am expected
by my aunt. She was unhappy with the idea of my riding your horse.
It seems a groom’s sister alarmed her with a description of your
brute. It is long past the time that I should be on my way.”

“There will be no further training sessions,
then?”

Jane refused to take the bait. “Good day to
you, sir.”

“And good morning to you, Mrs. Lovering,” he
said, and stood, looking after her long after she had gone from
sight.

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Sophia Nash’s first ten novels won thirteen
national awards including the prestigious RITA Award and two spots
on the
American Library Association's
“Top Ten Romances of
the Year.” Sophia was born in Switzerland, raised in France and the
United States, but says her heart resides in Regency England. Her
ancestor, an infamous French admiral who traded epic cannon fire
with the British Royal Navy, is surely turning in his grave. Before
pursuing her long held dream of writing Historicals, Sophia was an
award winning television producer for CBS, a congressional
speechwriter, and a nonprofit CEO.

Visit
www.sophianash.com
for more
information about the author’s books, excerpts, contact
information, links to Facebook/twitter, and a witty dictionary of
Regency era vocabulary.