Wildfire Kiss (25 page)

“How do you mean?”

“Sissy will insist I put up my hair all the time,
and no doubt outfit me in the most fashionable gowns and make me
hold my tongue and ride sedately and all manner of horrible things,
and why? Because I must be paraded and then sold to the highest
bidder! Outrageous. The entire thing a bore.”

“Perhaps.” He grinned. “But I rather think all those
things will bring you some measure of entertainment.”

“No, it won’t. The
haute ton
my aunt so
desperately intends for me to enter sounds a dim-witted lot only
interested in the cut of their clothes and the latest
on-dit
.”

He laughed, and she heard the genuine amusement in
his laugh before he said, “You may be pleasantly surprised.”

She considered this with a wrinkle of her nose. “Do
you think so? This is what Nigel and Seth keep saying, so perhaps
you are right.”

“Moppet,” said Lady Watson with a shake of her head.
“As though you have anything exciting happening here in
Nottingham.”

“But we do. What of the Luddites?” Taffy bit her
tongue. She couldn’t possibly tell Lady Watson what was so exciting
about the Luddite movement.

“Luddites, eh?” said Tarrant. “We had something of a
riot last week in the Riding Country. It is a terrible business,
and at present, I don’t see a solution.”

“The solution is to pay these people a fair wage. It
is the only solution,” said Taffy with feeling. “Shouldn’t
England’s peers work in Parliament to do just that?”

“Indeed, Taffy is quite right, you know. It is
Parliament’s duty,” said Nigel.

“The only talk I have heard in Parliament about the
Luddites is a heated desire to put them to trial,” said Tarrant
with a shake of his head.

“Monstrous!” cried Taffy.

She found Tarrant looking into her eyes and was
caught off guard a moment, but only for a fraction of a moment,
when he said, “You must feel strongly. Your eyes are alive with
gold-lit flames …”

Was he actually flirting with her? She blasted such
a thought away. No, he was not; he looked at her like she was
nothing more than an ignorant schoolgirl. She was sitting and still
managed to put her hands on her hips. “Of course I feel strongly.
We should all of us feel strongly. Such things should not be
allowed to go on.”

“However, they are too often a part of life,” he
answered quietly. “You are young and a bit naïve still, and as I
have no wish to shoot down your ideals, I shall leave it at
that.”

“Well, I am not naïve,” her brother interjected with
some vigor. “And my sister is quite correct. We can not allow such
things to stand.”

“Indeed,” added Taffy strenuously. “If men in your
position worked to prevent injustices …” She shook her head
and saw he was staring at her again. Was she getting through to
him? Did he agree with their point of view? Would he help them in
Parliament? “Are you aware, my lord, these people’s working
conditions at the mill are not bearable? Are you aware of the
pitiful wages, of the dangers from the machinery … the hours
they are forced to work?”

Her brother was clearly drawn in by her passion.
“Indeed, Tarrant, they are worked no better than slave labor. They
are starving, so they accept anything they can get, and their
employers take advantage of that.”

“Yes, I quite agree with you … their situation
is dire, but what they need to do is make active
verbal
protest. I can’t condone their riots—the smashing of machinery,
their attacks of violence on innocent people. Good lord, lad, I
have even heard of a group of Luddites here in Nottingham who meets
in Sherwood Forest. It is said they have taken to robbing the rich
on the highway in the name of Robin Hood with the excuse they are
giving to the poor.”

“And why was Robin Hood admired as a hero for his
efforts, and these people scorned?” she asked heatedly.

“Robin Hood is a legend.” His voice was grim as he
continued, “The Luddites are a fact of life, and another fact is
they will be crushed if they continue in their present course.”

Taffy was frustrated, and she allowed it to show.
Men just did not think women should involve themselves in politics,
and she was heartily sick of this attitude.

“Well, as a peer of the realm, I for one, plan to do
something about it when I get to London,” declared Seth with
feeling.

“Aye,” agreed Nigel. “We’ll take them on, won’t we,
Seth?

Soup plates were placed in front of them, and Lady
Watson, with a pleasant smile, said, “Now, enough talk of politics.
Cook has prepared a wonderful potato and leek soup, and we must not
allow it to get cold …”

Two

It was late afternoon, and Lady Taffy was sparring
for wind. Thurston Tarrant, the rakehell Hotspur, was the man in
her visions—no doubt about it whatsoever.

This is, of course, impossible
, she told
herself. Her dream vision had to be off somehow—could be off? Now
and then, she managed to change a vision, not often, but it did
change. Oh, this was all wrong.

She had come home in a great irritation of nerves,
changed into her green riding habit, plopped a matching top hat on
her head, grimaced at her reflection, and thrown it off. How could
she have been dreaming about such a cad of a man? He was a rogue of
rogues. He was a heartbreaker … why had she seen him naked
and … why had she been naked? What a stupid question. She set
this aside. It had to have been some strange quirk of the mind. She
wasn’t getting the entire story from the small snippet of a
premonition—that was it; it had to be.

What she needed was a good run to dissipate her
confusion and put her back in order. But the thing was, she was in
a state of agitation because never before had she met such a man as
Thurston Tarrant.

Her brother had said he was the very devil with the
ladies.
Oh yes,
the rakehell Hotspur could certainly have no
place in her life. What she wanted when she fell in loved was not a
rakehell, but a man who would love only her—faithfully. This one,
this Hotspur, would be faithful to no one woman.

Her brother had said there wasn’t a woman who didn’t
want him,
eh?
Well, she could see Tarrant thoroughly
believed in his own myth.
Hotspur, indeed!
And then her
mind’s eye recalled his perfect naked body reaching for her in her
dream. She recalled how she felt in her vision, hot and ready and
willing. It brought on a wave of heat in the present, and her blood
surged through her body. This had to stop. The vision was a
mistake … an error … a false dream that meant
nothing.

He was an arrogant, rude, and puffed up with his own
consequence sort, and he had been impudent enough to think
she
was interested in him. Well, at least she had managed
quite neatly to put any such notions he might have had on that
score deeply into the earth.

She had exchanged dagger for dagger, hit for hit,
during lunch and then again just as she quit his company. But the
truth was it had not been pleasant, and she had not enjoyed a
moment of the cold war he had engaged her in during their
afternoon.

Lady Taffeta had been cosseted and adored all her
life. What little she could remember of her mother had been dear
and loving. Her father had openly adored her. Seth and Nigel were
wont to tease her, but never had they, or any of their friends,
treated her with such disdain. More than that, their friends had
recently been quite gallant and flirtatious, a circumstance she had
been learning to appreciate.

This Hotspur had the audacity to think she had set
her cap for him, so she had spent the entire luncheon trying to
convince him of the reverse—
vision be damned!
The effort had
left her breathless with chagrin. These agitating thoughts had
taken her stomping toward the stables, where she had tacked up her
chestnut gelding without benefit of her groom’s help.

She led her favorite riding horse outside and
mounted him with ease. Her loose hair blew freely about her face as
the wind picked up. She walked her gelding onto the bridle path and
then put him into an easy trot, telling him all the while she was
very happy he was in a chipper mood, for she was not.

His ears pricked to her voice as he listened, and
she reached over and patted his neck affectionately. “There, never
mind me.”

She wanted to keep to the fields and wooded trails,
and in order to accomplish this, she was forced to skirt the lands
dividing Watson Halls from Grantham. The gate was closed. With a
silent oath, she set her pace and went into position with her heels
well down and her body neatly poised. Her gelding’s ears flickered
alertly as he looked ahead at the jump.

“I know, Red Moose. You don’t like the high
jumps … truth, I don’t much either, but the gate is closed,
and I don’t feel much like getting down and up. Let’s just take it.
Right then … here we go.”

She knew her horse loved her, and he told her so
then with a soft sound, something between a snort and a whinny. She
laughed and encouraged him, saying, “I love you, Moose … come
on … pick up the pace … and we’ll do fine. Just think of
it as only a few feet higher than a log. Honestly, you could step
over it … nothing to worry about, Moosey.”

She legged him on, and he obediently went for the
jump, changed his mind at the very last moment, and made as though
to duck out and refuse. Taffy screamed irritably, “No, sir,
no … You know better.”

She went into position and drove him, but his sharp
movements shifted her position in the saddle and sent her off
balance. Her gelding did finally accede to her demand and took the
gate flying, landing heavily on the other side, which sent her
sideways in her saddle when he planted his fores on the ground.

She nearly lost her seat completely, and with no
dignity whatsoever, she scrambled, grabbed his neck and mane, and
managed to right herself. As she settled back into her saddle, she
told him, “Odious brute, you almost lost me there.” Taffy, however,
was so relieved she was still in the saddle she released a nervous
laugh and added ruefully, “You certainly are well named,
Moose.”

“
Damn
if you didn’t make him do it. Didn’t
think he would for a moment there …” She heard the chuckle of
a male rider making his way alongside her. “I thought for a moment
I might be picking you up off the ground. Well done, Lady Taffeta,”
said the rakehell Hotspur.

She had been nearly surprised enough to lose her
seat again, and blew out a whiff of air as she spun around and
discovered, of all people, the Hotspur seated on his horse,
grinning broadly.

She knew what she must look like—a complete mess. As
she started to speak, she discovered she was hindered by a long
tress between her teeth. She removed her hair from her mouth, but
the wind would not cooperate and blew it right back. She wished she
had at least pinned it back. However, she managed to draw herself
up and regain her composure. She eyed him coldly and thought,
Of
all people to witness a clumsy jump—it had to be him. Grrr.
She
could have cried right then, but instead she said with an edge of
haughtiness, “My lord, I thank you, but I must admit it to have
been my fault. I should have stopped Moose and brought him back in
for a better line to the gate.”

“Agreed, but nevertheless, you made him take it,
which he did like a rocket,
and you
managed to stay put when
he landed badly.”

His grin made her want to throw mud at his face.

She grimaced. “He doesn’t like jumping; I don’t know
why I made him …” She patted the horse’s neck and managed an
amiable laugh. “Poor Moose, the big jumps frighten him.” She
sighed. It was over and done. He had seen her at her worst. So be
it. Brush herself off and move on. “What brings you out? I had
thought you would be packed and off for London by now.”

Tarrant’s black stallion pranced beneath him, and he
took a moment to bring his horse under him. She could not help but
admire his horsemanship. He was strong of leg and quiet of
hand.

The two horses touched noses, and the stallion
seemed pleased to find Moose submissive so they fell easily into
step beside each other, leaving Tarrant free once more to
converse.

He eyed her and said, “As to that, it was my
intention, but my aunt wishes me to stay for dinner, and I have
dutifully accepted. She is the favorite of my aunts, and I don’t
see enough of her.” The stallion snorted for an unknown reason and
pranced a bit until he quieted him again.

Taffy laughed appreciatively as she indicated with a
flick of her chin. “He suits you—restless.”

His eyes stared into hers, and once again he was the
man in her vision. Feral with desire … coming for her, and she
was oh, so willing. She had to stop this. She couldn’t think of him
like this. Maids were not supposed to …

Tarrant jarred these thoughts when he laughed and
said, “Let’s call a truce, you and I, shall we?”

“A truce, my lord? Were we at war?”

He smiled, and she was all too aware of his
magnetism. This one was dangerous. He had a killer smile and a
singular charm to go with it, and when he used it, a woman could
forget he was a scoundrel.

He inclined his head. “I don’t know why it was, but
I think lunch was a sparring contest.”

She eyed him warily. The devil was actually flirting
with her.
Does he think I would be an easy conquest? Ha!
“A
truce, then. I shall not throw my handkerchief … or cap, your
way,
and you won’t
try to seduce me.” She watched the devil
glitter in his eyes, and it was most definitely intriguing. She had
to keep him at arm’s length for certain.

He laughed again and answered easily, his eyes full
with his amusement, “I shall have to consider this …” Without
warning, he leaned over and lightly, easily managed to kiss her
lips, parting them, and expertly found refuge there for his
tongue.