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Authors: Danelle harmon

Taken by Storm (9 page)

BOOK: Taken by Storm
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“Conversation,” he said mildly, “can go far to make a long and boring trip into one that is a lot more interesting.”

Conversation. Yes, that would take her mind off of how close together the seat forced them to sit.

And how that closeness was making her feel.

“How long do you think it will take us to reach Norfolk?” she ventured.

“Given the superb condition your animal is in and the speed with which he seems to enjoy traveling, I shouldn’t think it will take long at all. In fact, we ought to be able to put a good fifteen or so miles behind us by the time we stop for the night.”

“Twenty!”

“No. Let’s not push him too much. Fifteen, and a good night’s rest at an inn for him.”

“And maybe a bit of pastry, Doctor?”

He shook his head. “No pastry.”

“But you feed it to your dog!” she protested, picking up the little mongrel that had been crouching under the seat and setting it atop her lap. “Why is it that Bow can have pastry and Shareb cannot? That’s not fair!”

“The digestive systems of dogs and horses are two different things,” he returned. “What is good for one is not necessarily good for the other. Can you not substitute something healthy—an apple, a carrot—instead?”

“Shareb doesn’t
like
apples and carrots. He likes
pastry
.”

“And I suppose Shareb is used to getting anything he wants?”

“But of course. He is Royalty, as far as horses go.”

“Persist in feeding him pastry and some other nag will succeed him to the throne.”

“Dr. Lord, you are most impertinent!”

He looked over and down at her and smiled. “And
you
, my lady, are a bit too used to having your own way.”

She gaped at him, shocked that he dared speak to her so.

“As is,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “your horse.”

“Really, sir! You do not know your place, do you?”

He laughed, quite impulsively for one she had thought rather reserved, and the action lit up his face like morning sunlight coming up over the sea. In that moment, Ariadne thought him quite handsome indeed, and felt an aching, overwhelming urge to lean against him, to laugh with him, to let down her guard and enjoy him for the man she perceived him to be. Uncomfortable with the feeling, and still keenly aware of his long, hard, thigh, she pointed her chin at the clouds and refused to look at him.

“Well, you cannot blame me,” he said softly, his eyes fond. “I’m having the devil of a time thinking of you as the grand lady when you’ve garbed yourself as the lowliest of stable hands.”

She turned to him, her eyes gleaming conspiratorially. “It
is
a clever disguise, is it not, Dr. Lord?”

“Very clever.” He nodded to a passing carriage driver. “But it didn’t fool me.”

“Well, no matter. The important thing is that I deceive my brother. The authorities. Reward hunters.” She touched his sleeve and leaned close, peering inquisitively up at him. “Do you think anyone will believe that I am a man, Dr. Lord?”

The stallion’s ceaseless pulling making his arms ache, Colin turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were bright, sparkling, and hopeful; her red hair bouncy and webbed across the flushed cheek she had turned toward the wind. There was no way, no way in hell, that that lovely face could be mistaken for anything other than what it was.

Strikingly, delightfully, female.

“No,” he said, sobering. “They won’t believe it.”

Something in his gentle, intelligent eyes touched her soul, and taken aback, Ariadne looked away, fiercely stroking the little dog as she tried to get her suddenly-racing heart back under control. Swift color caught her cheeks, and she was thankful for the cooling breeze against her face. Why was it that every time she tried to unnerve the veterinarian with her coy flirtations, he turned the tables and made
her
feel flustered and uncomfortable?

Keenly aware of his nearness, she looked off at the passing scenery. Already they were into the country; just ahead was a grove of trees, and beyond, a little pond with a flock of quacking mallards breaking its early morning surface and leaving a long crescent of ripples in their wake.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about your disguise,” her companion murmured, his voice holding a note of humor. “I can assure you that for the moment, you’re safe.”

“The problem of my disguise, Dr. Lord, is not what is distressing me.”

“I’m here if you would like to share a confidence.”

“Oh, no, I could never!”

“Well, if we are to be together for the duration of this trip, we might as well be friends. Friends do those things, you know. Share confidences.”

“You have not shared any of yours with
me
.”

“What would you like to know?”

She looked pointedly at him. “You said you have never been in love—”

“I was jesting.”

“Well, have you?”

“That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. But you were the one who suggested we share confidences.”

“Well, I used to fancy an Irish girl.”

“Did you, now!” She leaned conspiratorially close, though only Shareb and Bow bore witness to their conversation. “What was her name?”

He was grinning, remembering. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, come now, Doctor, of course it matters!” She lowered her voice and pressed close, resting her fingers on his sleeve and peering up into his face. “Tell me her name!”

“Orla.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Well . . . yes, I suppose I . . . admired her from afar.”

“You loved her. Admit it.”

“Yes, I loved her. I admit it.”

“Why didn’t you marry her?”

“You ask very personal questions, my lady.”

“I know, Father used to say that I talk too much. But since I’m paying you so much money I should be able to ask you all the questions I like, don’t you think? So tell me about this Orla. If you fancied her, why did you not marry her?”

His smile faded. Something in his face changed, and a shadow darkened his eyes. “I—was forced to change my career.”

“You have not always been a veterinarian?”

“No.”

“What were you before?”

“A man who was paid good money to kill people.”

“Come now, Dr. Lord! Tell me the truth!”

“That is the truth. And I’ve no further wish to discuss it.”

“But—”

“I
said
, I do not wish to discuss it.”

She stared at him for a moment, then her mouth snapped shut and she sat quietly beside him, her hands stuffed between her knees and her feelings obviously hurt. Colin felt a wave of remorse. He hadn’t meant to be sharp with her, but her playful queries had brought back memories that, he realized, still had the power to bring him pain. A lot of pain. Not that
he
was still ashamed about the inglorious way his career had ended, but there were others who most certainly were, his father and Uncle Elliott included, and he suspected that this aristocratic, temperamental young pepper-pot who placed such value on class wouldn’t understand any better than the others—save his own mother—had. For some, unfathomable reason, the idea of her pitying and scorning him filled him with sadness and despair.

“Dr. Lord?”

“Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head and looking at her blankly. So much for her temporarily sulkiness. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He just gave a pained smile and watched Shareb’s muscled hindquarters, his mind still far away. But she wasn’t the only one calling him back to the present; his leg was stiffening up, and there was nowhere, really, to stretch it.

She must have noticed his discomfort.

“How did you hurt your leg?”

He just shot her a sidelong glance, and didn’t answer.

“Well, I did notice that you’re trying to make it comfortable, and unless I miss my guess, failing miserably. You walk with a limp. What happened to you?”

“Really, Lady Ariadne, I think your father was correct. You talk too much.”

“Are you embarrassed about it?”

“No.”

“Did one of your patients kick you?”

“No.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

“Why are you so keen on knowing?”

“Nosiness. A desire to post it in the
Times
. So that I can hold it against you and blackmail you with the knowledge. Why do you
think
I want to know? Because I suspect that it burdens you more than you’ll admit, and I just thought it would relieve your mind to talk about it.”

“I see.”

“So are you going to tell me about your leg?”

Cocking his head as though in deep thought, he frowned and stared straight ahead. “My leg. A long extremity consisting of muscle, tissue, skin and tendons enclosing one femur, one patella, one—”

Ariadne couldn’t help herself. She leaned over and playfully cuffed his shoulder, and they both burst into laughter, defusing the tenseness of the previous moment.

“Don’t make me laugh when I’m trying to be serious!” she protested.

“Of what concern is my poor leg to you?”

“I want to know how you hurt it!”

“I broke it.”

“How?”

“I was shot.”

“With a
gun
?”

“No, with a cannon.”

“A
cannon
?” She clapped a hand dramatically to her breast. “Were you in the War?”

“Aye.”

“Well, of course! Why didn’t I think of that before? I know the Army employs veterinarians—I mean, with all those horses in the cavalry,
somebody
has to know how to care for them!—but I had no idea that you were a military veterinarian, although that does explain your fine posture and that irritating way you have of issuing orders . . . I’m sorry, Dr. Lord, that I’m so nosy. I hope you don’t regret telling me, now.”

“I wasn’t in the Army.”

“Well, what
were
you, then?”

“Something I’m not, now. Something I don’t want to think about, as the memories pain me. Let’s talk about something else, if you don’t mind.”

“Such as?”

“Your stallion. He’s no gait horse, is he?”

Her mouth fell open; then, quickly recovering, she flushed nervously and waved off his question. “Oh, Dr. Lord, the less you know about Shareb, the better. Trust me on that. But he is a smart horse, don’t you think? Look at him, pulling us in this little chaise as though he’s done it all his life. He is a wonderful horse, isn’t he? The finest in all of England!”

Colin raised a brow.

“I know you can’t see much of him, with the saddle cloth and leg bandages, but you’ll just have to take my word on it. I know my horses, as they were my father’s passion and now his legacy, and this one does not have an equal in all the land. Maybe, even, in all the world. Why are you smirking, Mr. Lord?”

“What happened to ‘Doctor?’”

“Oh yes, that’s right. You rather enjoy that, don’t you?”

“Well, it is a bit unkind of you to bestow a title on me and then take it away.”

“You’re quite right, it
is
unkind. So tell me more about this Orla of yours. Did you ever kiss her? I’ve always wanted to be kissed. Maxwell kissed me once just once, but it was just a chaste peck on the cheek, and I’ve always been curious to know what a
real
kiss felt like.”

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

It wasn’t appropriate, this conversation, and Colin didn’t like the direction in which it was headed. Best not to think about kissing and this pretty young woman beside him. Best to think, surely, of something else. He turned his attention back to the horse, wishing he’d thought to use a different bit, something a little stronger, as this one was doing little to curb the stallion’s relentless pulling and his shoulders were going to be on fire by the time they stopped for lunch—

“Dr. Lord?”

He knew the silence wasn’t going to last.

“Yes?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“I’m a veterinarian, not a priest.”

“Father always told me that I was too wild, too hard to control, and that is why he betrothed me to Maxwell, because Maxwell, he said, would be able to rein me in. But I don’t want to be reined in, Dr. Lord.”

He risked a glance over at her. Her eyes were sparkling with mischief.

“What do you want, then?”

“It is very wicked, what I want. And you must promise not to tell anyone.”

“I think I should have used a different bit on this horse. . . .”

“And
I
think I should like the chance to kiss someone else before I end up with Maxwell, just to see what a real kiss might feel like since his was so dull.”

Colin felt suddenly too warm inside his clothing, and at the end of the reins, Shareb-er-rehh suddenly began to fidget and tried to break into a canter.

He pulled the horse back as it began to fight him. “And your confession?”

“Well, I know it is dreadfully wrong of me, my being betrothed and all, but. . . .”

Shareb began blowing hard, shaking his head—

“. . . I would very much like to know if
you
might kiss me, so that I might know what I’ll be missing by marrying a man who seems to lack a certain ardor.”

Shareb-er-rehh exploded into a full gallop.

“Whoa!”

“Good heavens, Dr. Lord, what’s wrong with him?”

“Whoa! Easy!” A flock of pigeons burst skyward at the stallion’s approach and Shareb went sideways against the shafts, stumbled, and recovered, hurtling down the street at breakneck speed. “Whoa, boy,
whoa
!”

With all of his strength, Colin managed to get the horse slowed down to a fast trot, then, after much fighting and coaxing, a panting, complete stop.

He blew out his breath, sat back on the seat and turned his furious glare upon his white-faced companion. “Is that your big secret? The fact that you want someone to kiss you?”

“Not ‘someone.’ You.”

“The answer is no. A solid and resounding no, and I don’t want to hear another word about it, is that understood?”

She blinked, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitching in a helpless little grin.

Colin put his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands, fingers splaying up through his hair as he damned himself, damned her, damned his impulsiveness in agreeing to this madcap adventure. Sir Graham in all his fury had never been able to rattle him, even Lord Nelson, firing questions at him that time like a warship’s broadside, had not rattled him, even facing the French fleet and that damned Spanish battleship in the fight that had nearly carried off his leg had not rattled him, but this little sprite, this ninety-pound bit of flirtatiousness and fluff, had him so flustered and aback that he couldn’t even think straight.

BOOK: Taken by Storm
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