To Seduce a Rogue (12 page)

A ragged sigh slipped past his lips. “You see, as a boy I was small for my age, until maybe sixteen or so. I repeatedly came home with a battered face. Scraped knees. A broken finger. Quite nasty fights for a young boy, maybe not so nasty if I would have realized my size and given up once in a while. Eaton got tired of cleaning blood from the rugs. He finally pulled me behind our house and taught me a thing or two. Where to hit someone. How to hold my fists. He didn’t forget to include the most important aspect of pugilism: when to run. I seem to remember using that technique more often than not.”

Adam’s mind drifted. He looked directly at her, but he saw Eaton’s face. “As soon as I knew he would have done it—run away, that is—it was forever after an option I considered. Although, as I grew older...not one I needed to use as often.”

“Here” —he indicated the tree trunk— “if you’re going to listen, you may as well be comfortable.” He disengaged his hand as she leaned back, their legs touching from hip to knee. It was easier to be blind to the changing expressions crossing her face, but now there was the disturbing heat of her body pressed against his.

He inched his hand towards hers. “May I?”

She met his gaze. Without comment, she nodded.

Because it seemed safer, he turned to look across the field. “Eaton was a sensitive person. Much more so than I ever hoped to be. My father’s violent moods affected him, the verbal abuse that went hand in hand with living in that house. How I was able to shut it out, turn away from him as easily as if I had never known him...” He hand tightened around hers.

“I believe it was my eighteenth or nineteenth year when Eaton began to get into trouble. Gambling, liquor, women, fighting. Not such unusual pastimes for a young man; no need for alarm, I thought. I retrieved him from jail. Minor offenses. Paid off his debts, small at the time. Rescued him from a couple of situations which could have escalated into severe trouble.”

He shifted toward her then turned back before she had a chance to mirror the movement. “I
wanted
to take care of him. I had grown physically stronger and for some reason—luck of the draw, if you will—I knew I was stronger in other ways. He had taken care of me, and I vowed I would be there for him now that he needed me.”

He swallowed. “I had been asked, rather bluntly, to leave a prestigious college and Eaton...well, he never went. My father was disgusted with us, dismal failures in his eyes. I was writing. My first position with a newspaper. And, for the first time in my life, it was exactly that.
My life
. Eaton was working in the shipping business, very profitable endeavor, or so he said. I never asked questions. But obviously, my father did.”

“He came to our home one evening. Burst in without knocking. Eaton and I had just returned from our club, and we were a bit befuddled. My father was as furious as I had ever seen him. He was a judge—did I fail to mention that?” He laughed, but it sounded bitter even to his own ears. “He had a contact in the shipping industry and had found out that Eaton was involved in some illegal trade. I don’t know how illegal, but enough for my father to have had suspicions. And, enough for a trail to be left that my father’s contact could follow.”

He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, retreating from her. It would be a mistake to accept solace from this woman.

She was already too close.

“And?” she finally asked.

“And, that night my father and Eaton came to blows. He was yelling that Eaton had ruined his life, ruined the Chase name, ruined everything. I wanted to kill him then. I did. Because at first I imagined his anger was only fear for Eaton’s safety. If I was mad at my brother for any reason that’s all it was. But no, my father was worried about the goddamned family name.”

He lowered his chin to his chest and exhaled.

She looked at him—he could see part of her face—as if she had no clue what to offer. If she only knew, as his friend,
she
was more than he had ever been offered. He wanted to enfold her in his arms, bury his face in her rose-scented hair and forget. He had never wanted a woman in such a way before.

Only, it was too goddamned late to start now.

“Chase.” She ran her finger over his wrist.

He stood, throwing off her hand. The last, ragged remnants of self-control pulled and snapped within him, threatening to break. His hands trembled as he shoved them into his pockets. What was he doing, telling her this? The one person he needed to stay emotionally distant from.

He strode away, pausing to stare into the distance. He didn’t hear her walk up, but he felt the heat from her body when she halted at his back. A whisper of wind worked its way through the limbs of the oak, soothing, welcoming. He turned to face her—against his will—and found her lovely cobalt eyes pinned upon him. No censure darkened her gaze, and certainly no blame.

“Are you all right, Adam?”

He watched her lips move. A long, blue-black strand slipped into the corner of her mouth. He contained the urge to tell her he was not all right, that he
needed
her. To pull her into his embrace and let all the emotion he wanted to feel overflow and fill them both. He couldn’t do that, because he didn’t know what it would take from him.

And love? He would never be able to love her, even if he wanted to.

Charlie Whitney deserved more than that.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

Adam went very still. “Why?”

“Tell me about the scar.”

He cursed and threw his hands apart, but it was too late. Goddammit. Flustered, he kneeled to gather his pencil and paper. He knew what she sought to do. If she looked at him long enough, she would find some crack in his facade. Some flaw in the story. He had been training her to do just that.

He laughed, realizing she attempted to beat him with his own stick.

“It’s there, behind the patch of honeysuckle.”

“What?”

“Your neckpiece.”

He frowned, not remembering what honeysuckle looked like.

“My, you are a city-boy aren’t you?”

Laughing softly, she retrieved it for him. It amazed him that people failed to see her wisdom. Her grace. It just went to show how people neglected to seek beyond what was readily apparent.

Undetected, his gaze slid down her neck and along the slim line of her back. “A little worse for the wear.”

He moved closer. “Yes, well, I hate the damn things anyway. The occasion.” Their fingers brushed as he took the strip of material from her.

She cocked her head to one side. “It’s an odd neckpiece. I’ve never seen one like it.”

He twirled it between his fingers, seeing it as if for the first time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any on the men today. And he thought he needed to teach
her
to take note of what was going on around her?

A boisterous yell sounded from the general direction of the picnic. They turned in unison.

“You’d better go. The race is starting soon. You must need to get Taber ready.”

His gaze, against his better judgment, found hers.

She stared back, her face devoid of expression.

He almost smiled. She was learning. “Charlie, about today, the barn. It was not fair of me to place you in—”

She cut him off before he could go any further. “Don’t. My problems with Lila have been going on since we were children. We’ve never seen...eye-to-eye.” She paused, struggling. “Blood isn’t always thicker, you see. And, I think I’ll stop before I say too much.”

“Too much? What—” He snapped his fingers. “Because Lila is here with me? Well, let me set you straight.”

“I don’t want you to set me straight, thank you.” She started to turn.

He reached for her. “Charlie, you have it all wrong.”

“Maybe I do.” She tugged her arm from his grasp.

He let her go, watching as she followed the path down the hill, knowing it was best for both of them if she kept thinking whatever it was she thought and him and Lila.

Stupidity

The state, quality or fact of being stupid; dullness of mind.

“I wish I could have gotten you to drink more. Damn, I’m in trouble now,” Miles said and threw a blanket across his horse.

Adam grunted as he hoisted his saddle over Taber’s back. He pulled the cinch tight and led the horse in a circle. Reaching underneath, he tightened it a bit more. Taber seemed to sense the coming ride and released a fierce breath. “You hear that? The sound of a champion.”

Taber nickered in response.

“He’s not talking to you, you fool animal,” Miles said.

Adam grinned. “Do you need any help saddling, old man?”

“I reckon I can do it.”

“Fine by me.” Adam led Taber from the barn.

“Hello!” Aldo Friedrich motioned to him.

Adam pointed to the gray steed beside Aldo. “I see you’re racing.”

Aldo nodded. “My wife Rose likes to see me race. Like we did many times in Germany when we were younger. Good fun, no?”

“Excuse me.” Big John Thomason hopped upon a wooden crate and waved his arm. “Excuse me. Gentleman entering the horse race gather round.” The crate wobbled beneath him. Adam was surprised it had made it this far without splintering.

“The race starts by the northern edge of the barn, goes onto the main road, down one-half mile into Myer’s woods. You’ll go through the creek, over the fence circling the Dole’s western field, uncultivated this year, and back to the northern edge of the barn to the finish line. All of this is clearly marked. As you come in, please be sure to notice the lovely finish line, decorated by the Edgemont Beautification Society. That’s where you will pick up your lady’s bonnet.”

Several of the ladies giggled and whispered behind their hands.

Adam jabbed Miles in the ribs as they led their horses to the starting line. “What’s this business about a bonnet?”

“Myra Hawkins’ cousin lives in Ireland, and she got a letter about a horse race in Dublin where the men claimed a bonnet at the end.” Miles pulled his hat low on his brow. “Kath asked me what I thought of the idea. Fine by me.”

Adam took the reins in his hand and placed his foot in the stirrup. He paused with his knee braced against the horse. “Sure, it’s fine with you. You like the woman whose bonnet you have to take.” Pushing from the ground, he swung his leg over. “I, on the other hand, do not.”

Miles mounted, a little slower to get settled. He glanced at his friend and laughed. “Is there another bonnet of your choice, then?”

Adam pulled his head up and lowered his heels, the reins resting lightly in his hand. Taber always worked well on a loose rein. He cued Taber to a walk before Miles had the chance to say anything else. Still, he thought he heard a low chuckle behind his back.

The sun, just beginning to melt into the horizon, shone upon the eleven men trotting toward the starting line. Most looked to be experienced riders on sleek mounts. Adam had questioned if anyone would have a horse to equal Taber. Maybe not, but he was in the country. Three things these men knew well: crops, mash and horseflesh.

“Men, line up.” Mr. Whitefield’s voice rang above the horse’s agitated nickering. Adam leaned forward in anticipation. “On your mark...get set...race!” The whistle blew, startling the riders into action.