A Hint of Seduction (3 page)

S
HE HAD THE
face of an angel, the tongue of a shrew, and the heart of a thief.

John Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines, the Fifth Earl of Chatwin, bent double in the park. The chase had wrung him. Exhausted him. He placed his hands on his knees trying to suck in enough wind so he could keep going, but it was no use.

He’d had too much to drink and not enough to eat to run like the devil was after him. And the fact that he’d been up all night gambling with his friends didn’t help, either.

Besides, his horse and the lady were long out of sight.

“Damnation,” he managed to whisper between deep gulps of chilling air.

Who the hell was she? And what was she doing out at dawn anyway?

She’d been outspoken, bold… and refreshing.
Refreshing? Where the hell had that thought come from? She’d stolen his horse!

She wasn’t refreshing, she was a highwayman.

But even as the thought filtered through his mind, a smile slowly eased across his face. A beautiful, intriguing horse thief. Who would have thought it? A slow chuckle rumbled in his throat as he straightened.

Damned if she hadn’t gotten his attention in a heartbeat.

He had been trying to make amends for nearly ramming into her, trying to be a gentleman in every way, and she’d hoodwinked him like no one else ever had.

He laughed out loud and shook his head in bemusement.

What kind of young lady had the nerve to steal a man’s horse right from under his nose? Obviously, one who had no fear of being caught or the dread of being punished if she were apprehended.

And obviously one who did not know who he was.

She was lovely with French blue eyes, a small nose, and full generous lips that were made for kissing. Yes, soft and sweet and long and deep kisses that satisfied all the way to the soul’s core. An unexpected yearning of desire splintered through him and confused him.

No woman had ever confused him, but this one had. She’d met his gaze without flinching and ridden off on his horse as if she were his master.

Had she bewitched him? He shook his head.

No.

Yes.

Maybe he was just light-headed from all the wine he had consumed over the course of the night. Maybe he was just tired and not thinking clearly from lack of sleep and chasing after the fastest horse in London. Anything was
better than thinking he had been seduced by a golden-haired angel who had stolen his horse.

How could he be captivated by her?

John couldn’t believe he’d actually let the young lady outfox him. He shook his head and chuckled again. By her clothing and her speech he’d known she was a lady of quality, but what was she doing out before daybreak?

Alone?

Was she someone’s wife, someone’s mistress, or just a mischievous miss?

Something told him she wasn’t a titled man’s mistress. Even though she had been quite bold, he sensed innocence in her that women of pleasure no longer had. She didn’t look at him as a lady who’d known the intimacies shared between a man and a woman.

And if there was one thing John knew well, it was women.

Stealing his horse wasn’t the only reason she caught his attention so quickly. Her challenging replies had stimulated him more than any woman he’d ever talked to. But what was even more astonishing was that she didn’t seem the least bit impressed with him. That was certainly a change from most of the young ladies he met.

Whatever her purpose for being in the park, she certainly didn’t want him knowing about it, or she would have let him take her where she was going. She mentioned she had a pressing mission, yet he observed no fear in her. But something had made her take his horse, and that fascinated him.

And that’s what made him want to know more about her—after he got his horse back.

She had to be the excellent horsewoman she’d claimed
to be to handle his gelding. The General wasn’t an easy animal to master, and he didn’t usually accept unfamiliar riders. She obviously had a way with horses.

There had never been a lady John couldn’t instantly enchant until now. This lady had not been interested in his charm.

Her only interest had been in his mount.

She had been self-assured and more than capable of taking care of herself. He didn’t think a woman had ever caught him so unaware before. A sly smile returned to his lips. Unlike all the other young ladies he’d met over the years, this one had ensured that he would try to find out more about her.

Everyone in London knew how he valued his horse. Either she didn’t know that or didn’t care.

Maybe that was what made her so appealing that he wanted to know more about her. Her saucy tongue had pleased him and made him laugh.

For ten years he’d been known as one of the Terrible Threesome, which had now been reduced to a twosome. Chandler Prestwick, Earl of Dunraven, had married during the Season last year. Much to John’s surprise, the love-bitten fellow actually seemed happy as a bird singing in a tree.

The gossip sheets hadn’t let up on John or his good friend Andrew Terwilliger, the Earl of Dugdale, though he had to admit that the gossips were hardest on his friend about his light pockets, a subject John had never discussed with him. Andrew always seemed to have enough money whenever he needed it, so John didn’t intrude.

John raked his hand through his hair and breathed in deeply as he looked around him. The early morning fog
patchworked the park like a tattered blanket. His breath warmed the chilly air as daybreak continued to lighten the sky.

He had to think about what he was going to do. He’d been racing Christopher Corey, the Marquis of Westerland, and winning until he’d run right into the path of that lady.

Now, the Marquis would win the race and the money John and his friends had wagered. But that was the least of his worries.

John couldn’t rejoin his friends on foot. How could he tell them that he’d been duped by a lovely young lady who had stolen his horse? His pride was already a bit bruised about that. They would never let him live it down if they found out.

Hyde Park covered over six hundred acres. There was no way he could walk it and try to find her. She could be anywhere. It would be more likely that his friends would find him before he found her.

The best thing for him to do would be quit the park as soon as possible. He needed some time to clear his head and think. He’d get another mount and come back later, after his friends left the park.

He’d started walking toward the east rim of the park at a fast pace when he saw his best friend Andrew Terwilliger and two others ride out from under a stand of trees and head straight toward him.

“Damnation,” John muttered.

It was too late to try to hide behind a tree. It was clear by how fast they were riding they had already seen him. If it had only been Andrew approaching him, he would have jumped on the back of Andrew’s horse and asked him to get him out of the park as fast as possible. But with the
talkative Phillips and quiet and studious Wilkins with him, that would be impossible.

What was he going to say to them? He had to come up with a good story about why he was afoot, and he had to do it quickly.

“John, are you all right?” Andrew asked as he and the other two men pulled their mounts up short beside him.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.” John pretended to be dusting off his fawn-colored breeches.

Concern etched lines around Andrew’s eyes and along his forehead as he looked John up and down. “Did you get thrown?”

“Well, not exactly,” John said truthfully, “but my horse seems to have run off.”

“I knew something must have happened when Westerland made it back to the starting point before you and won the race. There’s no way that hack of his could have beaten The General.”

“What in the devil’s name happened to you?” Phillips asked as his large eyes searched the surrounding area of the park.

John looked up at the youngest and shortest of the three men. He should have known that if anyone was going to press the matter, it would be Phillips.

“My horse was spooked and, well, here I am,” John said.

“What spooked him?” Phillips asked.

An intriguing young lady.

John cleared his throat. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s not like The General to throw you and run off,” Phillips said, refusing to let the matter drop.

“Yes, you’re right. It’s not.” John refused to give more information than that.

“So really, John, what do you think spooked him?” Wilkins spoke for the first time, after having studied the situation. “Do you think a wild boar roamed into the park?”

John looked up at his heavyset friend who had a spotty complexion and thinning dark hair. “No, nothing like that, I’m sure.”

“It was probably just a shadow,” Wilkins said. “Sometimes at dawn long tree branches can look as if they’re grabbing for you.”

“What are you talking about, Wilkins?” Phillips asked with a scowl on his face. “That’s nonsense.”

“I’m only saying it could have been a low branch, or maybe a large bird flew out of a tree and spooked his horse. Yes, that is probably what happened,” Wilkins insisted.

John needed to get away from Phillips and Wilkins and find the lady and The General before anyone else did.

“Andrew, if you’ll give me a hand up behind you,” John said, “we’ll go find The General.”

John reached for Andrew’s hand to climb up behind him. But before his hand made contact with Andrew’s, John heard horses’ hooves pounding on the hard-packed ground behind them.

He lowered his hand and turned. Christopher Corey, the Marquis of Westerland, was racing toward them on his newly acquired jet-black stallion.

John made a small, short sound that was almost a laugh, and then swore under his breath again. What else could go wrong?

The Marquis was one of the few men that John didn’t get along with. It had all started last year when John flirted with a young lady Westerland later claimed he was serious
about. When the young lady declined Westerland’s attentions in favor of John’s, a rivalry was born that had yet to be put to rest.

To add insult to injury, later that same year, Westerland’s father had approached John, offering him his daughter’s hand in marriage. John had politely refused even though the duke was offering a large dowry.

As the Earl of Chatwin, John had more than enough income from his estates, and a generous dowry wasn’t going to convince him to be leg-shackled. He enjoyed his freedom and had no desire for the responsibilities of a wife and heir. He had plenty of time for that.

John usually stayed clear of Westerland, but last night the Marquis was insistent that his new stallion could beat The General, who was merely a gelding, but the fastest gelding John had ever seen. He’d paid a huge sum for the animal, but he’d been worth every shilling, winning every race—until today.

And all because of a mysterious blue-eyed miss.

When John had had enough of the braggart Westerland, he’d set out to prove him wrong and would have if the lady hadn’t ridden into his path.

But right now John had to stop thinking about her and come up with something that would get him out of this awkward situation with some of his dignity intact.

Westerland pulled his horse to a stop in front of the other men and very close to where John stood. The stallion nickered and stomped.

A knowing grin lifted one corner of Westerland’s thin lips as he looked down on John. A nasty twinkle sparked in his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked.

“His horse threw him,” Phillips answered, though it was clear Westerland had been speaking to John.

“He was spooked,” Andrew said, speaking up to defend his friend before cutting his eyes around to Phillips and giving him an irritated glare.

Westerland laughed and brushed a strand of his neatly trimmed blond hair from his forehead. The dandy wore his shirt points so high and his starched-stiff neckcloth so intricately tied that John wondered how the poor man kept from hanging himself.

“The great General? This magnificent gelding I’ve heard so much about since I returned to London was spooked?” He gave John a mock incredulous stare. “By what, pray tell?”

“A large bird,” Andrew said. “You want to make something out of it?”

Westerland sneered at John before looking over at Andrew. “I don’t need to. The horse said it all by tossing his master up in the air like a worthless sack of rubbish. Splendid.” He laughed again. “What kind of bird did it see? A bloody flying bat from hell?”

John gritted his teeth and held his retort. He couldn’t let Westerland goad him into saying something he’d regret. The least said about this matter the better. He had to change the subject from The General.

Thinking quickly, John looked up at Westerland and asked, “Did you think I was going to run out on you and not pay my bet?”

“Not for a moment. You don’t know horseflesh, but I’ve never known you to run out on a wager.”

John remained quiet but didn’t take his eyes off the Marquis.