A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (15 page)

Claire’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “Did you swoon?”

Swoon? The moment she and Hugh got back, Ellie raced to the old gardener’s shed. She wanted to sing, whoop, and holler all at the same time. At last in the safety of the woods where no one could see her, she danced in silence, like a crazy person, leaping and turning, swinging the floppy hat in big, joyous circles. She thanked God for the sun, the soft breeze, and most of all for Hugh Davenport, that marvelous man with the gorgeous scar.

Trying to keep her voice even, Ellie said, “I was shocked at first. You’ll both be scandalized, but kissing Hugh Davenport is lovely,” she told her sister.

“Why?” breathed Peggity.

“His lips are soft, there’s a tickle of stubble on his chin, and his nose was cool on my cheek. We were so close, his lips were like the stone hitting the water, sending ripples all through me.”

The sisters looked at Ellie with envy. “My, my,” said Claire. “Ripples … ”

Peggity cupped her cheek in her hand and propped her elbow on a knee. “How extraordinary.”

“Ripples are amazing,” Ellie said, planting a sensuous kiss on her pillow.

Lips to the linen, a terrible thought invaded her mind. “But ripples don’t do any good unless Hugh falls in love with me, Ellie, not Toby.”

“You have to try harder,” Peggity said.

“Try harder!” Ellie cried. “Do you think I use my fan to alarm him? Nearly shoot an arrow into his dog on purpose? Say things that upset him because I want to?” She hurled the pillow across the room.

Claire swung her legs off the bed, picked up the pillow, and faced her sisters. “There is really only one solution to this problem.”

“What’s that?” Ellie and Peggity asked.

“Toby has to break it off with Lord Davenport.”

“But why?” Ellie asked, distress tumbling in her heart.

“Because if he’s in love with Toby, he won’t even look at Ellie.”

A wave of sadness engulfed Ellie. “Oh, that’s hard.”

Peggity patted her shoulder. “Love is never easy, they say.”

“Poor Toby. Poor Ellie.” Claire sat back on the bed and took Ellie’s hand. “Remember, if Hugh Davenport loves Toby, it stands to reason that he loves you, too. You just have to show him how wonderful Ellie is.”

A rock formed in Ellie’s stomach. It spread its cold, hard surface to her heart. “You’re right, of course,” she said, her throat tightening. “But I’m not sure it will do any good. He doesn’t seem to like Ellie, I mean me, at all.”

• • •

At the dinner table that night, Ellie noticed Hugh arranging food in swirls on his plate. He looked bored, uncomfortable, and agitated. Then he created a small precipice out of a bit of beef and a smile touched his lips. She suspected his thoughts were on High Tor.

She caught herself smiling too, remembering the feel of his hand on hers – the weight of its callused warmth.

Poultney, who sat to her right, put his lips to her ear and whispered, “You’re not eating. That means mischief.”

Ellie’s jaw dropped. “Quite the contrary,” she whispered back, “I’m so hungry I can’t make up my mind what to eat first.”

“No. Mischief. What are you up to, Miss Ellie, that the rest of us shouldn’t find out?”

“Mr. Bigalow, don’t be annoying.” Alarm hammered in her chest. She forked a wad of turbot into her mouth.

Poultney’s forehead furrowed. “Oh, you’re hiding something, all right. You don’t like fish.”

Ellie choked. She grabbed her napkin, glanced quickly at Lady Davenport, who was deep in conversation with Chase Hart, and then at Hugh. He was patting his food into hillocks. She spit the fish into the cloth. Sport, sensing an opportunity, came to her side and gobbled the treat.

“You can tell me,” Poultney said, raising his bushy brows.

“There’s nothing to tell. Now stop pestering me.”

“Oops, she’s getting upset,” her antagonist cooed. “This must be really big.”

Ellie looked desperately at Claire. “It’s the funniest thing,” Ellie said, a bit louder than she’d wanted. “Poultney suspects me of having a secret.” All conversation at the table stopped and every eye turned on her — even the footmen posted about the table leaned forward on their toes.

Claire frowned and then smiled. “I suppose we must tell him,” she said. “You know how Lord Bigalow is. If he hasn’t found out yet, he will hound you until he does. Well, here it is: Ellie wants to buy a stallion from Lord Davenport. She’s been working up the courage to ask him to take her to the stables ever since we got here.”

Hugh’s eyes lifted off his plate. “We just bought your stallion,” he said. “Now you want to buy one from us?”

“Well, yes,” said Ellie, thinking fast. “I thought you might have a colt at a price we could afford.”

“I don’t think so,” Hugh replied.

Lady Davenport pounced. “We most certainly do, darling. That little foal out of Peach Blossom. He’s adorable. Just what you’re looking for, Miss Ellie.”

Hugh propped his fork on the edge of his plate. “I understood that your father was selling off your horses.”

“Oh, but there’s my Aunt May,” Ellie said. “She’s interested.”

Hugh grunted. “I’ll have the colt brought in from the back pasture tomorrow.”

“Oh no, my dear,” his mother corrected in the sweetest tone. “Take Miss Ellie for a ride to see the colt. He’ll be more comfortable in a pasture he knows. It will show him off to best advantage.”

Hugh passed his mother a withering glare, which she ignored. Reluctance hanging like icicles from every word, he said, “Would you like to ride tomorrow?”

Though her hands shook, Ellie pertly replied, “I’d be delighted.” She cast a winning smile on Poultney.

In the silver light of dawn, Ellie donned her Toby outfit preparing for the morning’s training session. She couldn’t wait to see Hugh, to feel his eyes peel the man’s clothes off her feminine body. La, in a doublet and hose he could make her feel captivating. She buttoned the homespun shirt, her fingers brushing the tips of her nipples — they hardened. She cupped her breasts, imagining Hugh held them, his heat warming their round, plump weight.

Closing her eyes, her hand traveled down her stomach, pressing the indent of her belly button and moving further, further until the fingers stopped at the waistband of her breeches.
What am I doing?
She shook her head, hoping to rattle the images of Hugh from her brain.

Claire was right. It wouldn’t do to have Hugh fall deeper in love with Toby. He needed to concentrate his attentions on her, on Ellie. Determined to make herself as unattractive as possible, she left one shirt tail out, crumpled the floppy hat, and smeared dust from the mantle on her face.

It also wouldn’t do to have Hugh get any closer to Manifesto. The stallion was starting to relax around him — letting him approach when she was aboard.

“Wake up, Ellie,” she whispered to herself and gave each cheek a smack.

• • •

The barn smelled of fresh hay and horses. Ellie’s favorite perfume. Manifesto greeted her with an excited whicker and nibbled at her pockets, delicately pulling carrots from them. The horse made her laugh. She rubbed his eyes and he rested the weight of his big head on her chest.

“Good morning,” a voice behind her said. “How’s he doing?”

She felt a flutter of joy at the sight of Hugh’s liquid brown eyes. “He’s settling in nicely,” she replied. Then a pang of guilt thundered in behind her happiness. “But he’s still got a long way to go.”

Hugh smiled — a wonderful smile, broad and genuine.

“May I offer him one?” he said, indicating a carrot sticking from her breeches pocket.

“It’s my last.”

“We can get more. Let’s see if he takes it from me.”

He went to pluck the carrot from her pocket. Afraid her resolve would shatter at the touch of his hand, she whipped the vegetable out and passed it to him.

Manifesto took a step back, nostrils flared, as Hugh held the treat. “Come on, beauty,” he whispered. “You’re going to like this.” The horse craned its neck, bit tenuously at the end of the carrot and pulled it from Hugh’s hand, retreating to the far side of the stall to munch. Ellie laughed. She couldn’t help herself.

“You’re a good boy,” Hugh said. “Very wise in the ways of men.”

“Yes, some men can be deceptive,” Ellie said under her breath. “You know, pretend to be one thing and actually be another.”

“Women do the same thing.” Hugh looked at Ellie and winked.

Her heart knocked against her ribs. “Perhaps … ” she conceded.

He moved near, so near she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“Oh look, I found another carrot,” she said, attempting to step away.

Hugh pushed closer, trapping her against the half door of Manifesto’s stall. She shoved the carrot in his hand and tried to duck past him. He stopped her, an arm on each side, his face so close the down of her cheek tickled. Ellie felt like a small animal cornered in a cozy nest. She squeezed back against the Dutch door, trying not to let his groin touch her. Air came shallow to her lungs, and that hammering in her chest — could he hear it? “Carrots are his Achilles’ heel,” she said, avoiding Hugh’s gaze.

“We all have our point of weakness.” The heat in his brown eyes made her feel faint. His mouth lowered to hers. She leaned backward over the Dutch door.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

“Lord Davenport … ”

“Hugh.”

“Hugh Davenport, don’t kiss me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“Wrong? How could it be wrong?”

“You’re a peer. You have a seat in the House of Lords. I’m a stable boy … ”

“Stable girl.”

“Even worse.”

“And you’re neither, Toby. You’re an immensely talented trainer. Besides, I don’t care for all that society rigmarole. The whole thing is absurd.”

“I’m sure your mother cares.”

“Bah! My mother … She is more than happy to censor others, but she drove my father to Italy with her whoring.”

“What? That’s a terrible accusation.”

Hugh’s face tensed with bitterness and he dropped Ellie’s arm. “My mother was perfectly happy to be the wife of a marquis — until a duke came along. Thornton Henwright, the fourth Duke of Carlow. Everyone knew what they were doing. The disgrace of it drove my father into the arms of my governess — the low-born daughter of a Tuscan butcher. And do you know what? Until the day he died, my father was happier with that woman than he’d ever been in his life.

“As for me, during the duke’s visits I had to live under his rule. A crueler, more self-centered man could not be found in England.”

Hugh’s vehemence alarmed her. “What did he do to you?”

“He
tried
to do unspeakable things. Things behind closed doors. Things that would make your skin crawl and your mind go mad.”

“Did your mother do nothing to protect you?”

Hugh didn’t look at Ellie anymore. His eyes were fixed on the past and glittering with hatred.

“She knew,” he said. “She found us one bright sunny day when the birds were singing, the roses were in bloom, and his lordship had me tied to the bedpost.”

Ellie gripped her throat. “What happened?”

“She sent me the next day to the most horrific public school in England. I didn’t see her for two years. I was eight when she packed me off.”

“But the duke is gone now?”

“He’s gone,” said Hugh, giving the bars to the stall a hard shake. Manifesto backed into the far corner, eyes white-rimmed with alarm. “So now she’s pursuing Captain Chase Hart, a rakehell half her age. Bugger her and her marriage plans for me.”

Ellie didn’t know what to say. She looked at Hugh’s handsome face twisted with rage and hatred. Gently, she stroked his scarred cheek. “And this?” she asked.

“Another ambitious chit, but that’s a story for another day.”

Ellie lifted the curls from his brow. “I’m so sorry you suffered,” she said. She pushed a stray hair back from his temple, and with her thumb, cleared a speck of dust from the corner of his lip. He needed her, and what could be the harm in experimenting a little as Toby? She kissed his fine lips. Nuzzled at the pain that held his mouth taught.

With eyes that looked at her as if he were at the bottom of a pit, he pulled her to him, and sought her lips. Slowly the hardness in him softened. He covered her face with fast, fervent kisses, then held her cheeks in his hands and buried her mouth with soul-rending passion. Ellie longed to take all of his pain into her. If he would give it, she would dispose of it — send it out to sea, bury it deep in the Exeter graveyard. He held her, running his hands up and down her back, as if searching for a grip that would never let her go. His fingers tangled in her hair, knocking off the floppy hat. She moaned as he pushed her against the Dutch door to Manifesto’s stall.

The image of Hugh with the Mortimers’ maid flashed through Ellie’s mind. And then it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the hot darkness welling within her.
Toby wouldn’t control her desire,
she told herself
. Toby is free to love with all her heart. I am Toby. I am Toby.

Hugh pulled her jacket off her shoulders, trapping her hands at her sides. He ran his fingers over her breasts. She swooned from the rich feeling on her nipples — better, better by far than her earlier imaginings. Liquid poured to the delicious itch between her legs. She wrapped a leg around his waist and kissed him as if she would suck his mouth dry.

Hugh grunted. He lifted her other leg and wrapped it around his waist, then carried her to the ladder leading to the haymow. A part of her mind wanted to break free, wished a stable hand would walk in, but the majority of her longed for him. He put her down at the ladder. A hand on the small of her back pushed her toward the first rung. Wanting him, she climbed the ladder, dismissing all thoughts of consequences, of Toby, of Ellie, of who should love whom.

In the loft, he lowered her onto the hay, then straddled her, his knees on each side, pinning her there. His hands took the sides of her homespun shirt and with a ferocious tug, he ripped it open. Buttons fell like hail on her stomach.

The violence frightened and thrilled her. She clutched the tattered sides of her shirt and pulled them away, revealing herself fully to him, letting the shock of exposure ripple through her. Bathed in the rush of cool air, it felt like victory.